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The Sleeping Beauty. I 


Printed in the United States of America 








PREFACE 

Once upon a time I found myself halting be¬ 
tween two projects, both magnificent. For the 
first, indeed—which was to discover, digest and 
edit all the fairy tales in the world—I was 
equipped neither with learning, nor with com¬ 
mand of languages, nor with leisure, nor with 
length of years. It is a task for many men, club¬ 
bing their lifetimes together. But the second 
would have cost me quite a respectable amount 
of toil; for it was to translate and annotate the 
whole collection of stories in the Cabinet des 
Fees. 


[vii] 
















Preface 

Now the Cabinet des Fees, in the copy on my 
shelves, extends to forty-one volumes, printed, 
as their title-pages tell, at Geneva between the 
years 1785 and 1789, and published in Paris by 
M. Cuchet, Rue et Hotel Serpente. The dates 
may set us moralising. While the Rue Serpente 
unfold, as though 

Tranquilla per alta, 

its playful voluminous coils, the throne of 
France with the Ancien Regime rocked closer 
and closer to catastrophe. In 1789 (July), just 
as M. Cuchet (good man and leisurable to the 
end) wound up his series with a last volume of 
the Suite des Mille et Un Nuits, they toppled 
over with the fall of the Bastille. 

Even so in England—we may remind our¬ 
selves—in 1653, when the gods made Oliver 
Cromwell Protector, Izaak Walton chose to 
publish a book about little fishes. But the re¬ 
minder is not quite apposite: for angling, the 
contemplative man’s recreation, was no favour¬ 
ite or characteristic or symbolical pursuit of the 
Order which Cromwell overthrew (and, besides, 

[viii] 


Preface 

he did not overthrow it); whereas, M. Cuchet’s 
forty-one volumes most pertinently as well as 
amply illustrated some real qualities, and those 
the most amiable of the Ancien Regime. When 
we think of the French upper classes from the 
days of Louis xiv. to the Revolution, we associate 
them with a certain elegance, a taste fastidious 
and polite, if artificial, in the arts of living and 
the furniture of life; and in this we do them jus¬ 
tice. But, if I mistake not, we seldom credit 
them with the quality which more than any other 
struck the contemporary foreign observer who 
visited France with a candid mind—I mean their 
good temper. We allow the Bastille or the 
guillotine to cast their shadows backward over 
this period, or we see it distorted in the glare of 
Burke’s rhetoric or Carlyle’s lurid and fuligi¬ 
nous history. But if we go to an eye-witness, 
Arthur Young, who simply reported what he 
saw, having no oratorical axe to grind or guillo¬ 
tine to sharpen, we get a totally different 
impression. The last of Young’s Travels in 
France (1787-1789) actually coincided with the 
close of M. Cuchet’s pleasant enterprise in pub- 

fix] 



Preface 

lishing; and I do not think it fanciful to suppose 
that, had this very practical Englishman found 
time to read at large in the Cabinet des Fees, 
he would have discovered therein much to cor¬ 
roborate the evidence steadily and unconsciously 
borne by his own journals—that the urbanity of 
life among the French upper classes was genu¬ 
ine, reflecting a real and (for a whole society) 
a remarkable sunniness of disposition. Uncon¬ 
scious of their doom, the little victims played. 
But they did play; and they fell victims, not to 
their own passions, but to a form of government 
economically rotten. 

Of all the volumes in the Cabinet, possibly the 
most famous are the first and second, containing 
the fairy tales of Charles Perrault and Madame 
d’Aulnoy, and vols. 7-11, containing M. Gal- 
land’s version (so much better than any transla¬ 
tion) of The Arabian Nights. I hope that one 
of these days Mr. Dulac will lay the public 
under debt by illustrating all these, and the 
stories of Antony Hamilton to boot. Mean¬ 
while, here are three of the most famous tales 
from Perrault’s wallet, and one, the evergreen 

[x] 


Preface 

Beauty and the Beast, by an almost forgotten 
authoress, Madame de Villeneuve. 

The ghost of Charles Perrault, could it walk 
to-day —perruque and all—might well sigh over 
the vanity of human pretensions. For Monsieur 
Perrault was a person of importance in his life¬ 
time (1628-1703), and a big-wig in every sense 
of the term. Colbert made him Secretary of the 
Academy of Inscriptions, and anon Controller 
of Public Works—in which capacity he sug¬ 
gested to his architect-brother, Claude Perrault, 
the fagade of the Louvre with its renowned 
colonnade. He flattered his monarch with a 
poem Le Steele de Louis le Grand. “Je ne sais,” 
observes a circle, “si ce roi, malgre son amour 
excessif pour la flatterie, fut content: les bornes 
etaient outre-passees.” The poem, as a poem, had 
little success; but by positing that the Age of 
Louis was the greatest in history, and suggesting 
that the moderns were as good as the ancients 
or better, it started a famous controversy. 
Boileau, Racine, La Bruyere, honoured him by 
taking the other side, and forced him to develop 
his paradox in a book of dialogues, Paralleles 

[xi] 



Preface 

des Anciens et des Modernes. But his best an¬ 
swer was his urbane remark (for he kept his 
temper admirably) that these gentlemen did ill 
to dispute the superiority of the moderns while 
their own works gave proof of it. He wrote 
other poems, other tractates (including one on 
the “Illustrious Men of his Age”), besides occa¬ 
sional tracts on matters of high politics: and his 
memory is kept alive by one small packet of 
fairy-tales—stories which he heard the nurse tell 
his little boy, and set down upon paper for a 
recreation! That is the way with literary fame. 
To take an English example: it is odds that 
Southey, poet-laureate and politician of great 
self-importance in his day, will come finally to 
be remembered by his baby-story of The Three 
Bears. It will certainly outlive Thalaba the De¬ 
stroyer, and possibly even the Life of Nelson. 

As for Gabrielle Susanne, wife of M. de Gal¬ 
lon, Siegneur de Villeneuve and lieutenant- 
colonel of infantry (whom she outlived), she 
wrote a number of romantic stories— Le Phenix 
Conjugal, Le Juge Parvenu, Le Beau-Frere 
Suppose, La Jardiniere de Vincennes, Le Prince 

[xii] 




Preface 

Azerolles, etc. I am not—perhaps few are— 
acquainted with these works. Madame de Ville- 
neuve died in 1755 an d lives only by grace of her 
La Belle et la Bete; and that again lives in spite 
of its literary defects. It has style; but the style 
inheres neither in its language, which is loose, 
nor in its construction. The story, as she wrote 
it, tails off woefully and drags to an end in mere 
foolishness. 

Since Perrault, who is usually accepted as the 
fountainhead of these charming French fairy- 
stories, belongs almost entirely to the seven¬ 
teenth century, it may be asked why Mr. Dulac 
has chosen to depict his Princes and Princess in 
costumes of the eighteenth? Well, for my part, 
I hold that he has obeyed a just instinct in choos¬ 
ing the period when the literature he illustrates 
was at the acme of its vogue. But his designs, in 
every stroke of which the style of that period is 
so unerringly felt, provide his best apology. 

My own share in this volume is, perhaps, less 
easily defended. I began by translating Per- 
rault’s tales, very nearly word for word; because 
to me his style has always seemed nearly perfect 

[xiii] 


Preface 

for its purpose; and the essence of “style” in 
writing is propriety to its purpose. On the other 
hand the late M. Ferdinand Brunetiere has said 
that Perrault’s is “devoid of charm,” and on this 
subject M. Brunetiere’s opinion must needs out¬ 
value mine ten times over. Certainly the trans¬ 
lations, when finished, did not satisfy me, and so 
I turned back to the beginning and have re¬ 
written the stories in my own way, which (as 
you may say with the Irish butler) “may not be 
the best claret, but ’tis the best ye’ve got.” 

I have made bold, too, to omit Perrault’s con¬ 
clusion of La Belle au Bois Dormant. To my 
amazement the editor of the Cabinet des Fees 
selects this lame sequel—it is no better than a 
sequel—of a lovely tale, and assigns to it the 
credit of having established “la veritable fortune 
de ce genre.” Frankly, I cannot believe him. 
Further, I have condensed Madame de Ville- 
neuve’s narrative and obliterated its feeble end¬ 
ing. In taking each of these liberties I have the 
warrant of tradition, which in the treatment of 
fairy-tales speaks with a voice more authoritative 
than the original author’s, for it speaks with the 

[xiv] 



Preface 

united voices of many thousands of children, his 
audience and best critics. As the children have 
decreed that in Southey’s tale oiTheThree Bears 
the heroine shall be a little girl, and not, as 
Southey invented her, a good-for-nothing old 
woman, so they have decreed the story of The 
Sleeping Beauty to end with the Prince’s kiss, 
and that of Beauty and the Beast with the Beast’s 
transformation. And as Beauty and the Beast is 
really but a variant of the immortal tale of Cupid 
and Psyche, I might—had I room to spare—at¬ 
tempt to prove to you that the children’s taste is 
here, as usually, right and classical. 

Arthur Quiller-Couch 


[xv] 






CONTENTS 



THE SLEEPING BEAUTY . . . « 25 

BLUE BEARD . >1 » » ..... 67 

CINDERELLA ...... • • • I0 7 

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST . .• . . . 153 


I 


[xvii] 



























ILLUSTRATIONS 



THE SLEEPING BE A UTY 


And there , on a bed the curtains of which were 
drawn wide , he beheld the loveliest vision he 
had ever seen ..... 

Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Her head nodded with spite and old age together , 
as she bent over the cradle and shook her 
crutched staff above the head of the pretty 
babe , who slept on sweetly . . . 33 


“What are you doing , goody?” asked the Princess. 

“I am spinning , pretty one” answered the 

old woman , who did not know who she was 41 

But news of it was brought to her by a little dwarf 

who owned a pair of seven-league boots , 49 

[Xixl 

























Illustrations 



BLUE BEARD 

BAGS 


They were rowed to the sound of music on the 

waters of their host's private canal . . 7 ** 

They overran the house without loss of time . 81 

t( You shall go in , and take your place among the 

ladies you saw there!" . . . . 91 

The unhappy Fatima cried up to her , “Anne, 

sister Anne , do you see any one coming?” . 99 



CINDERELLA 

She used to creep away to the chimney-corner and 

seat herself among the cinders . . . 111 

And her godmother pointed to the finest of all with 

her wand ...... 121 


[xx] 


Illustrations 


9A0B 


She was driven away , beside herself with joy . 131 

The Prime Minister was kept very busy during 

the next few weeks . . . . .145 



BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 

He had been fasting for more than twenty-four 

hours , and lost no time in falling-to . . 161 

Soon they caught sight of the castle in the distance 179 

She found herself face to face with a stately and 

beautiful lady . . . . . 191 

These no sooner saw Beauty than they began to 

scream and chatter . . . . 211 



[xxi] 



THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 





















THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 


O NCE upon a time there lived a King 
and a Queen, who lacked but one thing 
on earth to make them entirely happy. 
The King was young, handsome, and wealthy; 
the Queen had a nature as good and gentle as 
her face was beautiful; and they adored one an¬ 
other, having married for love—which among 
kings and queens is not always the rule. More¬ 
over, they reigned over a kingdom at peace, and 
their people were devoted to them. What more, 
then, could they possibly want? 

Well, they wanted one thing very badly, and 
the lack of it grieved them more than words can 

[25] 












The Sleeping Beauty 

tell. They had no child. Vows, pilgrimages, 
all ways were tried; yet for a long while nothing 
came of it all, and the poor Queen especially 
was in despair. 

At last, however, to her own and her hus¬ 
band’s inexpressible joy, she give birth to a 
daughter. As soon as the palace guns an¬ 
nounced this event, the whole nation went wild 
with delight. Flags waved everywhere, bells 
were set pealing until the steeples rocked, 
crowds tossed up their hats and cheered, while 
the soldiers presented arms, and even strangers 
meeting in the street fell upon each other’s neck, 
exclaiming: “Our Queen has a daughter! Yes, 
yes—Our Queen has a daughter! Long live the 
little Princess!” 

A name had now to be found for the royal 
babe; and the King and Queen, after talking 
over some scores of names, at length decided to 
call her Aurora, which means The Dawn. The 
Dawn itself (thought they) was never more 
beautiful than this darling of theirs. The next 
business, of course, was to hold a christening. 
They agreed that it must be a magnificent one; 

[26] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

and as a first step they invited all the Fairies 
they could find in the land to be godmothers to 
the Princess Aurora; that each one of them 
might bring her a gift, as was the custom with 
Fairies in those days, and so she might have all 
the perfections imaginable. After making long 
inquiries—for I should tell you that all this hap¬ 
pened not so many hundred years ago, when 
Fairies were already growing somewhat scarce 
—they found seven. But this again pleased 
them, because seven is a lucky number. 

After the ceremonies of the christening, while 
the trumpeters sounded their fanfares and the 
guns boomed out again from the great tower, 
all the company returned to the Royal Palace 
to find a great feast arrayed. Seats of honour 
had been set for the seven fairy godmothers, and 
before each was laid a dish of honour, with a 
dish-cover of solid gold, and beside the dish a 
spoon, a knife, and a fork, all of pure gold and 
all set with diamonds and rubies. But just as 
they were seating themselves at the table, to the 
dismay of every one there appeared in the door¬ 
way an old crone, dressed in black and leaning 

[ 27 ] 




The Sleeping Beauty 

on a crutched stick. Her chin and her hooked 
nose almost met together, like a pair of nut¬ 
crackers, for she had very few teeth remaining; 
but between them she growled to the guests in 
a terrible voice: 

“I am the Fairy Uglyane! Pray where are 
your King’s manners, that I have not been in¬ 
vited?” 

She had in fact been overlooked; and this was 
not surprising, because she lived at the far end 
of the country, in a lonely tower set around by 
the forest. For fifty years she had never come 
out of this tower and every one believed her to 
be dead or enchanted. That, you must know, is 
the commonest way the Fairies have of ending: 
they lock themselves up in a tower or within a 
hollow oak, and are never seen again. 

The King, though she chose to accuse his 
manners, was in fact the politest of men. He 
hurried to express his regrets, led her to table 
with his own hand, and ordered a dish to be set 
for her; but with the best will in the world he 
could not give her a dish-cover such as the others 
had, because seven only had been made for the 

[28] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

seven invited Fairies. The old crone received 
his excuses very ungraciously, while accepting 
a seat. It was plain that she had taken deep of¬ 
fence. One of the younger Fairies, Hippolyta 
by name, who sat by, overheard her mumbling 
threats between her teeth; and fearing she might 
bestow some unlucky gift upon the little Prin¬ 
cess, went as soon as she rose from table and hid 
herself close by the cradle, behind the tapestry, 
that she might have the last word and undo, so 
far as she could, what evil the Fairy Uglyane 
might have in her mind. 

She had scarcely concealed herself before the 
other Fairies began to advance, one by one, to 
bestow their gifts on the Princess. The youngest 
promised her that she should be the most beauti¬ 
ful creature in the world; the next, that she 
should have the wit of an angel; the third, a 
marvellous grace in all her ways; the fourth, 
that she should dance to perfection; the fifth, 
that she should sing like a nightingale; the sixth, 
that she should play exquisitely on all instru¬ 
ments of music. 

Now came the turn of the old Fairy Uglyane. 

[ 29 ] 



The Sleeping Beauty 

Her head nodded with spite and old age to¬ 
gether, as she bent over the cradle and shook 
her crutched staff above the head of the pretty 
babe, who slept on sweetly, too young and too 
innocent as yet to dream of any such thing as 
mischief in this world. 

“This is my gift to you, Princess Aurora,” 
announced the hag, still in her creaking voice 
that shook as spitefully as her body. “I promise 
that one day you shall pierce your hand with a 
spindle, and on that day you shall surely die!” 

At these terrible words the poor Queen fell 
back fainting into her husband’s arms. A 
trembling seized the whole Court; the ladies 
were in tears, and the younger lords and knights 
were calling out to seize and burn the wicked 
witch, when the young Fairy stepped forth from 
behind the tapestry, and passing by Uglyane, 
who stood scornful in the midst of this outcry, 
she thus addressed their Majesties:— 

“Take comfort, O King and Queen: your 
daughter shall not die thus. It is true, I have 
not the power wholly to undo what this elder 
sister of mine has done. The Princess must in- 

[ 30 ] 






[31] 









y, 


ifaim h i inimmimm nrrrriiutinmii r jiiim nm 



[32] 


i n ti iii uMiMi iijjjjLxujLLLLLi- uin iiiiTT i fi i iT it iiiiMniiii 111 ii i ui jrmTrTTwra ^cpmng^^ iM f > 11 nun i 


































































The Sleeping Beauty 

deed pierce her hand with a spindle; but, in¬ 
stead of dying, she shall only fall into a deep 
slumber that shall last for many, many years, 
at the end of which a King’s son shall come and 
awake her. Whenever this misfortune happens 
to your little Aurora, do not doubt that I, the 
Fairy Hippolyta, her godmother, shall get news 
of it and come at once to render what help I 
may.” 

The King, while declaring himself infinitely 
obliged to the good Fairy Hippolyta, could not 
help feeling that hers was but cold comfort at 
the best. He gave orders to close the christen¬ 
ing festivities at once, although the Fairy 
Uglyane, their spoil-joy, had already taken her 
departure; passing unharmed through the 
crowd of folk, every one of whom wished her 
ill, and riding away—it was generally agreed— 
upon a broomstick. 

To satisfy the King’s faithful subjects, how¬ 
ever,—who were unaware of any misadventure 
—the palace fireworks were duly let off, with a 
grand set-piece wishing Long Life to the Prin¬ 
cess Aurora! in all the colours of the rainbow. 

[ 35 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

But His Majesty, after bowing from the balcony 
amid the banging of rockets and hissing of Cath¬ 
erine wheels, retired to a private room with his 
Chamberlain, and there, still amid the noise of 
explosions and cheering, drew up the first harsh 
proclamation of his reign. It forbade every 
one, on pain of death, to use a spindle in spin¬ 
ning or even to have a spindle in his house. 
Heralds took copies of this proclamation and 
marched through the land reading it, to the 
sound of trumpets from every market-place: and 
it gravely puzzled and distressed all who lis¬ 
tened, for their women folk prided themselves 
on their linen. Its fineness was a byword 
throughout the neighbouring kingdoms, and 
they knew themselves to be famous for it. “But 
what sort of linen,” said they, “would His Maj¬ 
esty have us spin without spindles?” 

They had a great affection, however (as we 
have seen), for their monarch; and for fifteen or 
sixteen years all the spinning-wheels were silent 
throughout the land. The little Princess Aurora 
grew up without ever having seen one. But one 
day—the King and Queen being absent at one 

[ 36 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

of their country houses—she gave her governess 
the slip, and running at will through the palace 
and upstairs from one chamber to another, she 
came at length to a turret with a winding stair¬ 
case, from the top of which a strange whirring 
sound attracted her and seemed to invite her to 
climb. As she mounted after the sound, on a 
sudden it ceased; but still she followed the stairs 
and came, at the very top, to an open door 
through which she looked in upon a small gar¬ 
ret where sat an honest old woman alone, wind¬ 
ing her distaff. The good soul had never, in 
sixteen years, heard of the King’s prohibition 
against spindles; and this is just the sort of thing 
that happens in palaces. 

“What are you doing, goody?” asked the 
Princess. 

“I am spinning, pretty one,” answered the old 
woman, who did not know who she was. 

“Spinning? What is that?” 

“I wonder sometimes,” said the old woman, 
“what the world is coming to, in these days!” 
And that, of course^ was natural enough, and 
mi ght occur to anybody after living so long as 

[ 37 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

she had lived in a garret on the top of a tower. 
“Spinning,” she said wisely, “is spinning, or 
was; and, gentle or simple, no one is fit to keep 
house until she has learnt to spin.” 

“But how pretty it is!” said the Princess. 
“How do you do it? Give it to me and let me 
see if I can do so well.” 

She had no sooner grasped the spindle—she 
was over-eager perhaps, or just a little bit 
clumsy, or maybe the fairy decree had so or¬ 
dained it—than it pierced her hand and she 
dropped down in a swoon. 

The old trot in a flurry ran to the head of the 
stairs and called for help. There was no bell 
rope, and, her voice being weak with age and 
her turret in the remotest corner of the palace, 
it was long before any one heard her in the serv¬ 
ants’ hall. The servants, too—in the absence of 
the King and Queen —were playing cards, and 
could not be interrupted by anybody until their 
game was finished. Then they sat down and dis¬ 
cussed whose business it was to attend on a call 
from that particular turret ;and this againproved 
to be a nice point, since nobody could remember 

[ 38 ] 



x 


[ 39 ] 






“What are you doing , Goody?” asked the 
Princess. 

“I am spinning , pretty one” answered the 
old woman , who did not know who she was . 


laiiiiiMifliiiiiMtiitiifiviaiMifiaaiaiaiatttMiiimiiaiiiaaiiii 



imm 




rf m i utnranimiTiTTLm rmn mimn jiuiiuh id 






[40] 



























































4 % 




. ;■ n «T 

- 

























The Sleeping Beauty 

having been summoned thither, and all were 
against setting up a precedent (as they called 
it). In the end they decided to send up the 
lowest of the junior page-boys. But he had a 
weakness which he somehow forgot to mention 
—that of fainting at the sight of blood. So when 
he reached the garret and fainted, the old woman 
had to begin screaming over again. 

This time they sent up a scullery maid; who, 
being good-natured and unused to the ways of 
the palace, made the best haste she could to the 
garret, whence presently she returned with the 
terrible news. The servants, who had gone back 
to their game, now dropped their cards and 
came running. All the household, in fact, came 
pouring up the turret stairs; the palace physi¬ 
cians themselves crowding in such numbers that 
the poor Princess Aurora would have been hard 
put to it for fresh air could fresh air have re¬ 
stored her. They dashed water on her face, un¬ 
laced her, slapped her hands, tickled the soles 
of her feet, burned feathers under her nose, 
rubbed her temples with Hungary-water. They 
held consultations over her, by twos and threes, 

[ 43 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

and again in Grand Committee. But nothing 
would bring her to. 

Meanwhile, a messenger had ridden off post¬ 
haste with the tidings, and while the doctors were 
still consulting and shaking their heads the King 
himself came galloping home to the palace. In 
the midst of his grief he bethought him of what 
the Fairies had foretold; and being persuaded 
that, since they had said it, this was fated to hap¬ 
pen, he blamed no one but gave orders to carry 
the Princess to the finest apartment in the palace, 
and there lay her on a bed embroidered with 
gold and silver. 

At sight of her, she was so lovely, you might 
well have supposed that some bright being of the 
skies had floated down to earth and there 
dropped asleep after her long journey. For her 
swoon had not taken away the warm tints of her 
complexion: her cheeks were like carnations, 
her lips like coral: and though her eyes were 
closed and the long lashes would not lift, her 
soft breathing told that she was not dead. The 
King commanded them all to leave her and let 

[ 44 ] 





The Sleeping Beauty 

her sleep in peace until the hour of her awaken¬ 
ing should arrive. 

Now when the accident befell our Princess 
the good Fairy Hippolyta, who had saved her 
life, happened to be in the Kingdom of Mata- 
quin, twelve thousand leagues away; but news of 
it was brought to her in an incredibly short space 
of time by a little dwarf who owned a pair of 
seven-league boots. (These were boots in which 
you could walk seven leagues at a single stride.) 
She set off at once to the help of her beloved 
goddaughter, and behold in an hour this good 
Fairy arrived at the palace, in a fiery chariot 
drawn by dragons. 

Our King met her and handed her down from 
the chariot. She approved of all that he had 
done; but, greatly foreseeing as she was, she be¬ 
thought her that, as all mortals perish within a 
hundred years or so, when the time came for the 
Princess to awake she would be distressed at 
finding herself orphaned and alone in this old 
castle. 

So this is what she did. She touched with her 
wand everything and everybody in the palace: 

[ 45 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

the King, the Queen; the ministers and privy 
councillors; the archbishop (who was the Grand 
Almoner), the bishops and the minor clergy; 
the maids-of-honour, ladies of the bedchamber, 
governesses, gentlemen-in-waiting, equerries, 
heralds, physicians, officers, masters of the 
household, cooks, scullions, lackeys, guards, 
Switzers, pages, footmen. She touched the 
Princess’s tutors and the Court professors in the 
midst of their deep studies. She touched like¬ 
wise all the horses in the stables, with the 
grooms; the huge mastiffs in the yard; even 
Tiny, the Princess’s little pet dog, and Fluff, her 
black-and-white cat, that lay coiled on a 
cushion by her bedside. 

The instant the Fairy Hippolyta touched them 
they all fell asleep, not to awake until the same 
moment as their mistress, that all might be ready 
to wait on her when she needed them. The very 
spits at the fire went to sleep, loaded as they were 
with partridges and pheasants; and the fire went 
to sleep too. All this was done in a moment: 
the Fairies were never long about their business 
in those days. 


[46] 





[47] 



But news of it was brought to her by a little 
dwarf , who owned a fair of seven-league 
boots . 




x hmmnuiniuiiiirifiiiiiiiiiLnnftTrnmiiiirni i iiiii i ^ ^ S ^n^^inrrnTrjrfniLiiiLiirnif r i ' irnii ' i ' iii riT nri nim 



[48] 


iiii ii i r iiiiiir ii Mn i H i ii i ii T ii i i iii M i i i iimi i ni i iii i iiim iuiui Ti ii fl^ffiXE'n^n^Ti iii i iiiiiiii r iiiuiiiSi^ici^S 

































































The Sleeping Beauty 

But it so happened that one of the King’s 
councillors, the Minister of Marine (his office 
dated from a previous reign when the kingdom 
had hoped to conquer and acquire a seaboard) 
had overslept himself that morning and came 
late to the palace without any knowledge of 
what had befallen. He felt no great fear that 
his unpunctuality would be remarked, the King 
(as he supposed) being absent in the country; 
nevertheless he took the precaution of letting 
himself in by a small postern door and so missed 
being observed by the Fairy and touched by her 
wand. Entering his office, and perceiving that 
his under-secretary (usually so brisk) and all 
his clerks rested their heads on their desks in 
attitudes of sleep, he drew the conclusion that 
something had happened, for he was an excel¬ 
lent judge of natural slumber. The farther he 
penetrated into the palace, the stronger his sus¬ 
picions became. He withdrew on tiptoe. 
Though by nature and habit a lazy man, he was 
capable of sudden decision, and returning to 
his home he caused notices to be posted up, for¬ 
bidding any one to approach the castle, the in- 

[5i] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

mates of which were suffering from an Eastern 
but temporary affliction known as the Sleeping 
Sickness. 

These notices were unnecessary, for within 
a few hours there grew up, all around the park, 
such a number of trees of all sizes, and such a 
tangle of briars and undergrowth, that neither 
beast nor man could find a passage. They grew 
until nothing but the tops of the castle towers 
could be seen, and these only from a good way 
off. There was no mistake about it: the Fairy 
had done her work well, and the Princess might 
sleep with no fear of visits from the inquisitive. 

One day, many, many years afterwards, the 
incomparable young Prince Florimond hap¬ 
pened to ride a-hunting on that side of the coun¬ 
try which lay next to the tangled forest, and 
asked: “What were those towers he saw pushing 

up above the midst of a great thick wood?” 

/ 

They all answered him as they heard tell. 
Some said it was an old castle haunted by ghosts. 

Others, that all the wizards and witches of the 
country met there to keep Sabbath. 

The most general opinion was that an Ogre 

[ 52 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

dwelt there, and that he carried off thither all 
the children he could catch, to eat them at his 
ease. No one could follow him, for he alone 
knew how to find a passage through the briars 
and brambles. The Prince could not tell which 
to believe of all these informants, for all gave 
their versions with equal confidence, as com¬ 
monly happens with those who talk on matters 
of which they can know nothing for certain. 
He was turning from one to another in per¬ 
plexity, when a peasant spoke up and said:— 

“Your Highness, long ago I heard my father 
tell that there was in yonder castle a Princess, 
the most beautiful that ever man saw; that she 
must lie asleep there for many, many years; and 
that one day she will be awakened by a King’s 
son, for whom she was destined.” 

At these words Prince Florimond felt himself 
a-fire. He believed, without weighing it, that 
he could accomplish this fine adventure; and 
spurred on by love and ambition, he resolved to 
explore then and there and discover the truth for 
himself. 

Leaping down from his horse he started to 

[ 53 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

run towards the wood, and had almost reached 
the edge of it before the attendant courtiers 
guessed his design. They called to him to come 
back, but he ran on, and was about to fling him¬ 
self boldly into the undergrowth, when as by 
magic all the great trees, the shrubs, the creepers, 
the ivies, briars and brambles, unlaced them¬ 
selves of their own accord and drew aside to let 
him pass. He found himself within a long glade 
or avenue, at the end of which glimmered the 
walls of an old castle; and towards this he strode. 
It surprised him somewhat that none of his at¬ 
tendants were following him; the reason being 
that as soon as he had passed through it, the un¬ 
dergrowth drew close as ever again. He heard 
their voices, fainter and fainter behind him, be¬ 
yond the barrier, calling, beseeching him, to de¬ 
sist. But he held on his way without one back¬ 
ward look. He was a Prince, and young, and 
therefore valiant. 

He came to the castle, and pushing aside the 
ivies that hung like a curtain over the gateway, 
entered a wide outer court and stood still for a 
moment, holding his breath, while his eyes trav- 

[ 54 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

elled over a scene that might well have frozen 
them with terror. The court was silent, dread¬ 
fully silent; yet it was by no means empty. On 
all hands lay straight, stiff bodies of men and 
beasts, seemingly all dead. Nevertheless, as he 
continued to gaze, his courage returned; for the 
pimpled noses and ruddy faces of the Switzers 
told him that they were no worse than asleep; 
and their cups, which yet held a few heeltaps of 
wine, proved that they had fallen asleep over a 
drinking-bout. 

He stepped by them and passed across a sec¬ 
ond great court paved with marble; he mounted 
a broad flight of marble steps leading to the main 
doorway; he entered a guardroom, just within 
the doorway, where the guards stood in rank 
with shouldered muskets, every man of them 
asleep and snoring his best. He made his way 
through a number of rooms filled with ladies and 
gentlemen, some standing, others sitting, but all 
asleep. He drew aside a heavy purple curtain, 
and once more held his breath; for he was look¬ 
ing into the great Hall of State where, at a long 
table, sat and slumbered the King with his Coun- 

[ 55 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

cil. The Lord Chancellor slept in the act of dip¬ 
ping pen into inkpot; the Archbishop in the act 
of taking snuff; and between the spectacles on 
the Archbishop’s nose and the spectacles on the 
Lord Chancellor’s a spider had spun a beautiful 
web. 

Prince Florimond tiptoed very carefully past 
these august sleepers and, leaving the hall by an¬ 
other door, came to the foot of the grand stair¬ 
case. Up this, too, he went; wandered along a 
corridor to his right, and, stopping by hazard 
at one of the many doors, opened it and looked 
into a bath-room lined with mirrors and having 
in its midst, sunk in the floor, a huge round basin 
of whitest porcelain wherein a spring of water 
bubbled deliciously. Three steps led down to 
the bath, and at the head of them stood a couch, 
with towels, and court-suit laid ready, exquisitely 
embroidered and complete to the daintiest of lace 
ruffles and the most delicate of body linen. 

Then the Prince bethought him that he had 
ridden far before ever coming to the wood; and 
the mirrors told him that he was also somewhat 
travel-stained from his passage through it. So, 

[ 56 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

having by this time learnt to accept any new 
wonder without question, he undressed himself 
and took a bath, which he thoroughly enjoyed. 
Nor was he altogether astonished, when he tried 
on the clothes, to find that they fitted him per¬ 
fectly. Even the rosetted shoes of satin might 
have been made to his measure. 

Having arrayed himself thus hardily, he re¬ 
sumed his quest along the corridor. The very 
next door he tried opened on a chamber all pan¬ 
elled with white and gold; and there, on a bed 
the curtains of which were drawn wide, he be¬ 
held the loveliest vision he had ever seen: a 
Princess, seemingly about seventeen or eighteen 
years old, and of a beauty so brilliant that he 
could not have believed this world held the like. 

But she lay still, so still . . . Prince Flori- 
mond drew near, trembling and wondering, and 
sank on his knees beside her. Still she lay, 
scarcely seeming to breathe, and he bent and 
touched with his lips the little hand that rested, 
light as a roseleaf, on the coverlet. . . . 

With that, as the long spell of her enchant¬ 
ment came to an end, the Princess awaked; and 

[ 57 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

looking at him with eyes more tender than a first 
sight of him might seem to excuse: — 

“Is it you, my Princef” she said. “You have 
been a long while coming!” 

The Prince, charmed by these words, and still 
more by the manner in which they were spoken, 
knew not how to find words for the bliss in his 
heart. He assured her that he loved her better 
than his own self. Their speech after this was 
not very coherent; they gazed at one another for 
longer stretches than they talked; but if elo¬ 
quence lacked, there was plenty of love. He, 
to be sure, showed the more embarrassment; and 
no need to wonder at this—she had had time to 
think over what to say to him; for I hold it not 
unlikely (though the story does not say anything 
of this) that the good Fairy Hippolyta had taken 
care to amuse her, during her long sleep, with 
some pleasurable dreams. In short, the Prin¬ 
cess Aurora and the Prince Florimond con¬ 
versed for four hours, and still without saying 
the half they had to say. 

Meanwhile all the palace had awaked with 
the Princess. In the Council Chamber the Kins 

[ 58 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

opened his eyes and requested the Lord Chan¬ 
cellor to read that last sentence of his over again 
a little more distinctly. The Lord Chancellor, 
dipping his quill into the dry inkpot, asked the 
Archbishop in a whisper how many t’s there 
were in “regrettable.” The Archbishop, taking 
a pinch of snuff that had long ago turned to dust, 
answered with a terrific sneeze, which again 
was drowned by the striking of all the clocks in 
the palace, as they started frantically to make 
up for lost time. Dogs barked, doors banged; 
the Princess’s parrot screamed in his cage and 
was answered by the peacocks squawking from 
the terrace; amid which hubbub the Minister for 
Agriculture, forgetting his manners, made a 
trumpet of his hands and bawled across the table, 
begging His Majesty to adjourn for dinner. In 
short, every one’s first thought was of his own 
business; and, as they were not all in love, they 
were ready to die with hunger. 

Even the Queen, who had dropped asleep 
while discussing with her maids-of-honour the 
shade of mourning which most properly ex¬ 
pressed regret for royal personages in a trance, 

[ 59 ] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

lost her patience at length, and sent one of her 
attendants with word that she, for her part, was 
keen-set for something to eat, and that in her 
young days it had been customary for young 
ladies released from enchantment to accept the 
congratulations of their parents without loss of 
time. The Prince Florimond, by this message 
recalled to his devoirs, helped the Princess to 
rise. She was completely dressed, and very 
magnificently too. 

Taking his beloved Princess Aurora by the 
hand, he led her to her parents, who embraced 
her passionately and—their first transports over 
—turned to welcome him as a son, being 
charmed (quite apart from their gratitude) by 
the modest gallantry of his address. They passed 
into a great dining-room lined with mirrors, 
where they supped and were served by the royal 
attendants. Violins and hautboys discoursed 
music that was ancient indeed, but excellent, and 
the meal was scarcely concluded before the com¬ 
pany enjoyed a very pleasant surprise. 

Prince Florimond, having no eyes but for his 
love, might be excused if he forgot that his at- 

’ [60] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

tendants must, long before now, have carried 
home their report, and that his parents would be 
in deep distress, wondering what had become of 
him. But the King, the Princess’s father, had a 
truly royal habit of remembering details, espe¬ 
cially when it concerned setting folks at their 
ease. Before dinner he had dispatched a messen¬ 
ger to carry word to Prince Florimond’s father, 
that his son was safe, and to acquaint him briefly 
with what had befallen. The messenger, riding 
through the undergrowth—which now oblig¬ 
ingly parted before him as it had, a while ago, 
to admit the Prince —and arriving at the out¬ 
skirts of the wood, found there a search-party 
vainly endeavouring to break through the bar¬ 
rier, with the Prince’s aged father standing by 
and exhorting them in person, to whom he de¬ 
livered his message. Trembling with relief— 
for he truly supposed his son to be lost beyond 
recall—the old man entreated the messenger to 
turn back and escort him. So he arrived, and 
was ushered into the hall. 

The situation, to be sure, was delicate. But 
when these two kings, both so well meaning, 

[61] 



The Sleeping Beauty 

had met and exchanged courtesies, and the one 
had raised the other by the hand to a place on the 
dais beside him, already and without speech they 
had almost accorded. 

“I am an old man,” said the Princes father; 
“I have reigned long enough for my satisfaction, 
and now care for little in life but to see my son 
happy.” 

“I think I can promise you that,” said the 
Princess’s father, smiling, with a glance at the 
two lovers. 

“I am old enough, at any rate, to have done 
with ambitions,” said the one. 

“And I,” said the other, “have dreamed long 
enough, at any rate, to despise them. What mat¬ 
ters ruling to either of us two, while we see your 
son and my daughter reigning together?” 

So it was agreed, then and there; and after 
supper, without loss of time, the Archbishop 
married the Prince Florimond and the Princess 
Aurora in the chapel of the Castle. The two 
Kings and the Princess’s mother saw them to 
their chamber, and the first maid-of-honour drew 
the curtain. They slept little—the Princess had 

[62] 


The Sleeping Beauty 

no occasion; but the Prince next morning led 
his bride back to the city, where they were ac¬ 
claimed by the populace and lived happy ever 
after, reigning in prosperity and honour. 

MORAL 


Ye Maids, to await some while a lover fond, 
Rich, titled, debonair as Florimond, 

Is reason; and who learns on fate to attend 
Goes seldom unrewarded in the end — 
“What! No one kiss us for a hundred years!” 
There, la-la-la! I understood, my dears . 


ANOTHER 

Further, the story would suggest a doubt 
That marriage may be happiest when defer/d — 
“Deferr’d?” you cry — “Deferr’d,” I see you pout, 
— We’ll skip this moral, and attempt a third . 


ANOTHER 

Thirdly, our fable then appears to prove 
Disparity of years no bar to love. 

Crabb’d Age and Youth—But that’s an ancient quarrel, 
And I’ll not interfere . There’s no third moral . 


[63] 





[64] 







BLUE BEARD 


















BLUE BEARD 



I N the East, in a city not far from Baghdad, 
there lived a man who had many posses¬ 
sions and might have been envied by all 
who knew him had these possessions been less by 
one. He had fine houses in town and country, 
retinues of servants, gold and silver plate in 
abundance, coffers heaped with jewels, costly 
carpets, embroidered furniture, cabinets full of 
curiosities, gilded coaches, teams of Arab horses 
of the purest breed. But unluckily he had also 
a blue beard, which made him so frightfully 

[67] 









Blue Beard 

ugly that every woman wanted to scream and 
run away at sight of him. 

Among his neighbours was a lady of quality, 
who had two sons and two daughters. Upon 
these two damsels Blue Beard cast his affections, 
without knowing precisely which he preferred; 
and asked the lady to bestow the hand of one of 
her daughters upon him, adding, not too tact¬ 
fully, that he would leave the choice to her. 
Neither Anne nor Fatima was eager for the 
honour. They sent their suitor to and fro, and 
back again from one to the other: they really 
could not make up their minds to accept a hus¬ 
band with a blue beard. It increased their re¬ 
pugnance (for they were somewhat romantic 
young ladies) to learn that he had already mar¬ 
ried several wives; and, moreover, nobody could 
tell what had become of them, which again was 
not reassuring. 

Blue Beard, to make their better acquaintance, 
invited them, with their mother and brothers and 
a dozen or so of their youthful friends, to divert 
themselves at one of his country houses, where 
they spent a whole fortnight, and (as they con- 

[ 68 ] 





[ 69 ] 





They were rowed to the sound of music on 
the waters of their host's private canal . 





■1 ii rt iT T H I n n 7Ti n n 1 111 mn - i ri T f i rLinTm.l3Iirn T1H111H11H 




niin i TTTn.rfnri.iin linn miiin i iium'i7Tinnm 


[ 70 ] 




























































Blue Beard 

fessed) in the most agreeable pastimes. Each 
day brought some fresh entertainment: they 
hunted, they hawked, they practised archery, 
they angled for gold-fish, or were rowed to the 
sound of music on the waters of their host’s pri¬ 
vate canal, they picnicked in the ruined castles, 
of which he owned quite a number. Each day 
concluded, too, with banqueting, dancing card- 
parties, theatricals; or would have concluded, 
had these young people felt any disposition to 
go to bed. They preferred, however, to sit up 
until morning, joking and teasing one another. 
Blue Beard, who had arrived at middle age, 
would have been grateful for a little more sleep 
than they allowed him, but showed himself 
highly complaisant and smiled at their pranks 
even when—their awe of him having worn off— 
they balanced a basin of water above his cham¬ 
ber door, to fall on his head and douch him, or 
sewed up his night-garments, or stuffed his bol¬ 
ster with the prickly cactus (an Eastern vege¬ 
table, of which he possessed whole avenues); 
nay, even when, for the same mischievous pur¬ 
pose, they despoiled his garden of an aloe which 

[ 73 ] 


Blue Beard 

was due to blossom in a few days’ time, after hav¬ 
ing remained flowerless for a century, he be¬ 
trayed no chagrin but merely raised the wages of 
his head-gardener, heart-broken over the loss of a 
plant so economical in giving pleasure. In short 
all went so smoothly that the younger daughter 
began to find their host’s beard not so blue after 
all. 

She confided this to her mother. “Dear 
mother,” she said, “it is doubtless nothing more 
than my fancy, but his beard does seem to me to 
have altered in colour during the last ten days— 
a very little, of course.” 

“Then you, too, have observed it!” the lady 
interrupted delightedly. “My dearest child, 
you cannot imagine how your words relieve me! 
For a week past I have accused my eyesight of 
failing me, and myself of growing old.” 

“Then you really think there is a change?” 
asked Fatima, at once doubtful and hoping. 

“Indeed, yes. Ask yourself if it be reasonable 
to suppose that our eyes are playing a trick on 
both of us? Not,” her mother went on, “that I, 
for my part, have any prejudice against blue. 

[ 74 ] 


Blue Beard 

On the contrary, it is a beautiful colour, and con¬ 
sidered lucky. The poets—you will have re¬ 
marked—when they would figure to us the 
highest attainable happiness, select a blue flower 
or a blue bird for its emblem. Heaven itself is 
blue; and, at the least, a blue beard must be al¬ 
lowed to confer distinction.” 

“A greyish-blue,” hazarded Fatima. 

“A bluish-grey, rather,” her mother corrected 
her: “that is, if I must define the shade as it ap¬ 
pears to me.” 

“And,” still hesitated Fatima, “since it has 
begun to change, there seems no reason why it 
should not continue to do so.” 

“My darling”—her mother kissed her—“that 
is precisely the point! Its colour is changing, 
you say. But for what reason? Obviously be¬ 
cause he is in love; and what love has begun, 
love can carry to a conclusion. Nay, but put it 
on the ground of pity alone. Could a feeling 
heart set itself any task more angelic than to res¬ 
cue so worthy a gentleman from so hideous an 
affliction—if affliction it be, which I am far from 
allowing?” 


[ 75 ] 


Blue Beard 

Fatima reflected on her mother’s advice, but 
thought it prudent to consult her sister Anne 
and her step-brothers before coming to a deci¬ 
sion which, once taken, must be irrevocable. 

They listened to her very good-naturedly; 
though, to tell the truth, all three were somewhat 
jaded, having sat up all night at the card-tables, 
playing at ombre, quadrille, lasquenet, and 
Heaven knows what other games. 

“My dear Fatima,” said her sister Anne with 
a little yawn, “I congratulate you with all my 
heart on having made a discovery which, beyond 
a doubt and but for your better diligence, I 
should have had to make for myself before 
long.” 

As for her step-brothers, they were in the best 
of humours at having won a considerable sum of 
money from their host by superior play; and they 
answered her, quoting a proverb, that “at night 
all cats are grey, and all beards too,” and seemed 
to consider this very much to the point. 

Fatima was greatly relieved by these assur¬ 
ances. On the evening before the company dis¬ 
persed Blue Beard again sought a private inter- 

[ 76 ] 


Blue Beard 

view and pressed his suit. She accepted him 
without further ado, and as soon as they returned 
to town the marriage was concluded. 

They had been married little more than a 
month when Blue Beard came to his wife one 
morning, and told her that letters of importance 
had arrived for him: he must take a journey into 
the country and be away six weeks at least on a 
matter of business. He desired her to divert her¬ 
self in his absence by sending for her friends, 
to carry them off to the country if she pleased, 
and to make good cheer wherever she was. 

“Here,” said he, “are the keys of the two great 
store-chambers where I keep my spare furni¬ 
ture; these open the strong-rooms of my gold 
and silver plate which is only used on state oc¬ 
casions ; these unlock my chests of money, both 
gold and silver; these, my jewel coffers; and this 
is the master-key to all my apartments. But this 
little one, here, is the key of the closet at the end 
of the great gallery on the ground floor. Open 
all the others; go where you will. But into that 
little closet I forbid you to go; and I forbid it so 

[ 77 ] 


Blue Beard 

strongly that if you should disobey me and open 
it, there is nothing you may not expect from my 
displeasure.” 

Fatima promised to obey all his orders ex¬ 
actly; whereupon he embraced her, got into his 
coach, and was driven off. 

Her good friends and neighbours scarcely 
waited for the young bride’s invitation, so im¬ 
patient were they to view all the riches of her 
grand house, having never dared to come while 
her husband was at home, because of his terrify¬ 
ing blue beard. They overran the house without 
loss of time, hunting their curiosity from room to 
room, along the corridors and in and out of 
closets and wardrobes, cabinets and presses; 
opening cupboards, ferreting in drawers, and 
still exclaiming over their contents as each new 
discovery proved more wonderful than the last. 
They roamed through the bedrooms and spent 
a long while in the two great store-chambers, 
where they could not sufficiently admire the 
number and beauty of the tapestries, beds, sofas, 
consoles, stands, tables, but particularly the 
looking-glasses, in which you could see your- 

[ 78 ] 




[ 79 ] 


They overran the house without loss of time , 





__---- < 

TmTTiii mu 11 111 m n 11 m n m i un nT 7 TTiiif rrr ?f^ ^g ^i.iiaii m mim mm n 1 1 luirin r m rn'n-mi ini n iihhit I 


[80] 












































































































Blue Beard 

self from head to foot, with their frames of glass 
and silver and silver-gilt, the finest and costliest 
ever seen. They ceased not to extol and to envy 
their friend’s good fortune. 

“If my husband could only give me such a 
house as this,” said one to another, “for aught I 
cared he might have a beard of all the colours 
of the rainbow!” 

Fatima, meanwhile, was not in the least 
amused by the sight of all these riches, being 
consumed by a curiosity even more ardent than 
that of her friends. Indeed, she could scarcely 
contain herself and listen to their chatter, so im¬ 
patient she felt to go and open the closet down¬ 
stairs. If only Blue Beard had not forbidden 
this one little thing! Or if, having reasons of 
his own to keep it secret, he had been content 
to take the key away with him, saying nothing 
about it! At least, if he wished to prove whether 
or not poor Fatima could rise above the common 
frailty of her sex—and he was, as we shall see, 
a somewhat exacting husband—he should have 
warned her. As it was, her curiosity grew and 
possessed her until at length, without even con- 

[ 83 ] 


Blue Beard 

sidering how uncivil it was to leave her guests, 
she escaped from them and ran down a little 
back staircase, in such haste that twice or thrice 
she tripped over her gown and came near break¬ 
ing her neck. 

When she reached the door of the closet she 
hesitated for a moment or so, thinking upon her 
husband’s command, and considering what ill 
might befall her if she disobeyed it. While he 
uttered it his look had been extremely stern, and 
a blue beard—for after a month of married life 
she could no longer disguise from herself that 
it was still blue, or at any rate changing colour 
less rapidly than she or her mother had promised 
themselves—might betoken a harsh temper. On 
the other hand, and though she continued to find 
it repulsive, he had hitherto proved himself a 
kind, even an indulgent husband, and for the life 
of her she could not imagine there was anything 
unpardonable in opening so small a chamber. 
The temptation, in short, was too strong for her 
to overcome. She took the little key and, trem¬ 
bling, opened the door. 

At first, shading her eyes and peering in, she 

[84] 


Blue Beard 

could see nothing, because the window-shutters 
were closed. But after some moments she be¬ 
gan to perceive that the light, falling through the 
shutters, took a reddish tinge as it touched the 
floor. So red it was—or rather, red-purple— 
that for a moment or two she supposed the closet 
to be paved with porphyry of that colour. Still, 
as she stared and her eyes by degrees grew ac¬ 
customed to the gloom, she saw—and moment 
by moment the truth crept upon her and froze 
her—that the floor was all covered with clotted 
blood. In the dull shine of it something hor¬ 
rible was reflected. . . . With an effort she 
lifted her eyes to the wall facing her, and there, 
in a row, on seven iron clamps, hung the bodies 
of seven dead women with their feet dangling 
a few inches above the horrible pool in which 
their blood had mingled. . . . Little doubt but 
these were the wives whom Blue Beard had mar¬ 
ried and whose throats he had cut, one after 
another! 

Poor Fatima thought to die of fear, and the 
key, which she had pulled from the lock, fell 
from her hand. When she had regained her 

[ 85 ] 


Blue Beard 

senses a little, she picked it up and locked the 
door again; but her hand shook so that this was 
no easy feat, and she tottered upstairs to recover 
herself in her own room. But she found it filled 
with her officious friends, who, being occupied 
with envy of her riches and having no reason to 
guess that, in a husband’s absence, anything 
could afflict so fortunate a wife, either honestly 
ignored her pallor or hoped (while promising 
to come again) that they had not overtired her 
by their visit. 

They promised, too, to repeat their call very 
soon, at the same time inquiring how long her 
husband’s journey might be expected to last. It 
was plain that they feared him, one and all. 
Half an hour ago she might have wondered at 
this. 

They were gone at last. Fatima, drawing the 
key from her pocket, now to her horror observed 
a dull smear upon it, and remembered that it 
had fallen at her feet on the edge of the pool of 
blood in the closet. She wiped it; she rubbed it 
on the sleeve of her robe; but the blood would 
not come off. In a sudden terror she ran to her 

[ 86 ] 


Blue Beard 

dressing-room, poured out water, and began to 
soap the key. But in vain did she wash it, and 
even scrape it with a knife and scrub it with 
sand and pumice-stone. The blood still re¬ 
mained, for the key was a magic key, and there 
was no means of making it quite clean; as fast 
as the blood was scoured off one side it came 
again on the other. 

She was still scouring and polishing, when a 
horn sounded not very far away. In her flurry 
she paid little heed to this, or to the rumble of 
wheels she heard approaching. Frightened 
though she was, she supposed that she had still 
almost six weeks in which to restore by some 
means the key to its brightness. But when the 
wheels rolled up to the porchway and came to 
a stop, and when the horn, sounding again, blew 
her husband’s flourish, then indeed the poor 
lady’s knees knocked together and almost sank 
beneath her. Hiding the key in the bosom of 
her bodice, she tottered forth to the head of the 
stairs, to behold Blue Beard himself standing 
beneath the lamp in the hall below. 

He caught sight of her as she leaned over, 

[87] 


4 


Blue Beard 

clinging to the balustrade; and called up cheer¬ 
fully that he had received letters on the road with 
news that his journey was after all unnecessary 
—the business he went about had been settled, 
and to his advantage. Still shaking in every 
limb, Fatima crept downstairs to give him greet¬ 
ing. She ordered supper to be prepared in 
haste; and while he ate, forced herself to ask a 
hundred questions concerning his adventures. 
In short she did all she could to give him proof 
that she was delighted at his speedy return. 

Next morning, having summoned her to at¬ 
tend him on the terrace, he asked her to render 
back the keys; which she gave him, but with 
such a trembling hand that he easily guessed 
what had happened. 

“How is this?” said he. “Why is not the key 
of my closet among the rest?” 

“I must have left it upstairs on my table,” 
said Fatima. 

“Fetch it to me at once,” said Blue Beard. 
“At once, and without fail.” 

She went, and after a while returned, protest¬ 
ing that she could not find it. 

[ 88 ] 





[ 89 ] 


uuumimumniLimmiitniinriiunimii r iiiiiii T mnmiiii i iiiii 





“You shall go in , and take your place among 
the ladies you saw there!” 


mCX 


liiniLmnninn r miiniiiiiiii M^friTnirmTniiiimm 





tiiirnim 


iiniiiTimLiirfun'finiiijri i rniiiiii i iiii i iiiii mn 



[90] 























































































Blue Beard 

“Go back and seek again,” commanded Blue 
Beard, dangerously calm. 

After going backwards and forwards several 
times, she could pretend no longer, but brought 
him the key. Blue Beard examined it closely, 
and demanded— 

“How came this blood upon the key?” 

“I do not know,” answered poor Fatima, paler 
than death. 

“You do not know!” cried Blue Beard in a 
terrible voice. “But I know well enough. You 
have chosen to enter that closet. Mighty well, 
madam; since that poor room of mine so appeals 
to your fancy, your whim shall not be denied. 
You shall go in, and take your place among the 
ladies you saw there!” 

Fatima flung herself at her husband’s feet, 
and wept and begged his pardon with every sign 
of truly repenting her disobedience. She would 
have melted a rock, so beautiful and sorrowful 
she was; but Blue Beard had a heart harder than 
any rock. 

“You must die, madam,” said he, “and that 
presently.” 


[93] 


Blue Beard 

“Since I must die,” she answered, looking up 
at him with eyes all bathed in tears, “grant me a 
little time to say my prayers.” 

“I grant you,” replied Blue Beard, “ten min¬ 
utes, and not a second more.” 

As she went from him, and through the house 
towards her own apartment, at the foot of the 
great staircase she met with her sister Anne, who 
(unaware of Blue Beard’s return) had just ar¬ 
rived to pay her a visit. 

“Ah, dear sister!” cried Fatima, embracing 
her. “But tell me, oh, and for Heaven’s sake, 
quickly! where are my brothers Selim and Has- 
san, who promised to come with you?” 

“They are at home,” said Anne. “They were 
detained at parade, and I have come ahead of 
them. I could wait for them no longer in my 
impatience to see you; but just as I was starting 
they arrived back from the parade-ground, and 
sent word that they will follow as soon as they 
have groomed their horses, and spend a happy 
day with you.” 

“Alas!” sobbed Fatima, “they will never see 
me alive in this world!” 

[ 94 ] 


Blue Beard 

“But what has happened?” asked her sister, 
amazed. 

“He— Blue Beard —has returned. . . . Yes, 
and in a few minutes he has promised to kill me. 
But ah! ask me no questions—there is so little 
time left. Dear sister, if you love me, run up¬ 
stairs and still up to the top of the tower, look 
if my brothers are not coming, and if you see 
them, give them a signal to make haste!” 

Her sister Anne left her and ran up, up, to the 
roof of the tower; and from time to time as the 
minutes sped, the unhappy Fatima cried up to 
her:— 

“Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one com- 

• S)ff 

ingf 

And Sister Anne answered her:— 

“I see nothing but the noon dust a-blowing, 
and the green grass a-growing.” 

By and by Blue Beard, who had pulled out 
his huge sabre, and was trying its edge on the 
short turf of the terrace, shouted to her:— 

“Wife, your time is up. Come down, and at 
once I” 

Then, as she made no answer, he shouted 

[ 95 ] 


Blue Beard 


again, and as loudly as he could bawl: “Come 
down quickly, or I will come up to you!” 

“A moment—give me a moment longer!” she 
answered, and called softly to her sister: “Anne, 
Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?” 

And Sister Anne answered: “I see nothing 
but the noon dust a-blowing, and the green grass 


a-growing. 

“Come down quickly,” shouted Blue Beard, 
“or I will come up to you!” 

“I am coming,” answered his wife; and again 
she cried: “Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any 
one coming?” 

“I see,” answered Sister Anne, “yonder a great 
cloud of dust coming.” 

“Is it my brothers?” 

“Alas! no, sister. I see a flock of sheep.” 

“Will you not come down?” bawled Blue 
Beard. 

“Just one moment longer!” entreated his wife, 
and once more she called out: “Anne, Sister 
Anne, do you see nobody coming?” 

“I see,” she answered, “yonder two Knights 
a-riding, but they are yet a great way off. . . . 

[ 96 ] 


• • 


I 



[97J 



The unhappy Fatima cried up to her :— 

<( Anne , Sister Anne , do you see any one coming? 




irnimiiw 1111 ui 'i nnrn n iiriij 1 11111 minimn mnnn n c, 



A 


jianfHiniiinmmim i i i ii ' mmn i i ' i i iiii r ni rnTTTnn 


V 


[98] 




























































> 


) 

> ) 


) 


> ) > 
















< 



t f 


Blue Beard 

God be praised,” she cried a moment after, 
“they are our brothers! I am waving my hand¬ 
kerchief to them to hasten.” 

Then Blue Beard stamped his foot and roared 
out so terribly that he made the whole house 
tremble. The poor lady came down and, casting 
herself, all in tears and dishevelled, at his feet, 
clasped him by the ankles while she besought 
him for mercy. 

“This shall not help you,” said Blue Beard. 
“You must die!” Then, taking hold of her hair 
and twisting her head back, the better to expose 
her beautiful throat, he exclaimed: “This be 
the lesson I read against curiosity, the peculiar 
vice of woman-kind, and which above all others 
I find detestable. To that most fatal habit all 
the best accredited religions, in whatever else 
they may differ, unite in attributing the first 
cause of all misfortunes to which the race is 
subject. . . .” In this strain he continued for 
fully three minutes, still grasping her hair with 
one hand while with the other he flourished his 
sabre. 

As he ceased, poor Fatima looked up at him 

[ioi] 


V 


Blue Beard 

with dying eyes. “Ah, sir!” she besought him, 
“if this curiosity be, as you remind me, my worst 
sin, you will not be so cruel as to destroy me be¬ 
fore I have confessed and asked pardon for it. 
Grant me, then, just one moment more to fix my 
thoughts on devotion!” 

“No, no,” was his answer; “recommend thy¬ 
self to Heaven,” and he swung up his sabre to 
strike. 

At that very instant there sounded so loud a 
knocking at the gate that he came to a sudden 
stop. His arm dropped as the gate flew open 
and two cavaliers ran in with drawn swords and 
rushed upon him. Loosing his hold upon Fa¬ 
tima, who sank fainting upon the grass, he ran 
to save himself, but the two brothers were so hot 
on his heels that, after pursuing him through 
the vineries and the orange-house, they overtook 
him just as he reached the steps of the main 
porch. There they ran their swords through his 
body, and, after making sure that he was dead, 
returned to their sister, who opened her eyes, in¬ 
deed, as they bent over her, but had not strength 
enough to rise and embrace them. 

[102] 


Blue Beard 

Blue Beard had no heirs, and so his wife be^ 
came mistress of all his estates. She employed a 
part of her wealth to marry her sister Anne to a 
young gentleman who had loved her a long 
while; another part to purchase captains’ com¬ 
missions for her two step-brothers; and the rest 
to marry herself to a very worthy gentleman who 
made her forget the short but unhappy time she 
had passed with Blue Beard. 

MORAL 

(For Curious Wives) 

Wives should have one lord only . Some have reckon’d 
In Curiosity t’ enjoy a second . 

But Scripture says we may not serve two masters, 

And little keys have opened large disasters. 


ANOTHER 

(For Chastising or Correcting Husbands) 

The very best sermon that ever was preach’d 
Was a thought less effective the longer it reached. 















[i04] 




CINDERELLA 

OR THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER 













CINDERELLA 

OR THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER 



O NCE upon a time there lived a gentle¬ 
man who married twice. His second 
wife was a widow with two grown-up 
daughters, both somewhat past their prime, and 
this woman would have been the proudest and 
most overbearing in the world had not her 
daughters exactly resembled her with their fine 
airs and insolent tempers. The husband, too, 
had by his first wife a child of his own, a young 
daughter, and so good and so gentle that she 
promised to grow up into the living image of 
her dead mother, who had been the most lovable 
of women. 


[107] 














Cinderella 

The wedding festivities were no sooner over 
than the stepmother began to show herself in 
her true colours. She could not endure the girl’s 
good qualities, which by contrast rendered her 
own daughters the more odious. She put her 
to drudge at the meanest household work, and 
thus she and her precious darlings not only 
wreaked their spite but saved money to buy 
themselves dresses and finery. It was the child 
who scoured the pots and pans, scrubbed the 
floors, washed down the stairs, polished the 
tables, ironed the linen, darned the stockings, 
and made the beds. She herself slept at the top 
of the house in a garret, upon a wretched straw 
mattress, while her sisters had apartments of 
their own with inlaid floors, beds carved and 
gilded in the latest fashion, and mirrors in which 
they could see themselves from head to foot. 

Yet they were so helpless, or rather they 
thought it so menial to do anything for them¬ 
selves, that had they but a ribbon to tie, or a 
bow to adjust, or a bodice to be laced, the child 
must be sent for. When she came it was odds 

[i°8] 




u 


i 



[109] 


mmmimurrumuimurmmwmi^jEuinh^^ 



She used to creep away to the chimney-cor* 
ner and seat herself among the cinders . 







mi n f i i i minm ii 1111 r 111 1 n rm i li n i.mu l i r r n t ri uT f LiiTr^ J gii itmifnimi nm m i 111 n ni i i.i itt t i n i liir r mi miniii 




[no] 

























































Cinderella 

that they met her with a storm of abuse, in this 
fashion:— 

“What do you mean, pray, by answering the 
bell in this state? Stand before the glass and 
look at yourself! Look at your hands—faugh! 
How can you suppose we should allow you to 
touch a ribbon, or even come near us, with such 
hands? Run downstairs, slut, and put yourself 
under the kitchen pump”—and so on. 

“How can I help it?” thought the poor little 
drudge. “If I do not run at once when the bell 
rings, they scold me for that. Yet they ring— 
both of them together sometimes—a minute after 
setting me to rake out a grate and sift the ashes. 
As for looking at myself in the glass, gladly 
would I do it if they allowed me one. But they 
have told me that if I had a glass I should only 
waste time in front of it.” 

She kept these thoughts to herself, however, 
and suffered her ill-usage patiently, not daring 
to complain to her father, who would, more¬ 
over, have joined with the others in chiding her, 
for he was wholly under his wife’s thumb; and 
she had enough of chiding already. When she 

[H3] 


Cinderella 


had done her work she used to creep away to 
the chimney-corner and seat herself among the 
cinders, and from this the household name for 
her came to be Cinder-slut; but the younger 
sister, who was not so ill-tempered as the elder, 
called her Cinderella. They were wise in their 
way to deprive her of a looking-glass; for in 
truth, and in spite of her sorry rags, Cinderella 
was a hundred times more beautiful than they 
with all their magnificent dresses. 

It happened that the King’s son gave a ball, 
and sent invitations through the kingdom to 
every person of quality. Our two misses were 
invited among the rest, for they cut a great figure 
in that part of the country. Mightily pleased 
they were to be sure with their cards of invita¬ 
tion, all printed in gold and stamped with the 
broad red seal of the Heir Apparent; and 
mightily busy they were, discussing what gowns 
and head-dresses would best become them. 
This meant more worry for Cinderella, for it 
was she who ironed her sisters’ linen, goffered 
their tucks and frills, pleated their wristbands, 

[i 14] 


Cinderella 

pressed their trimmings of old lace and wrapped 
them away in tissue paper. A score of times 
all this lace, piece by piece, had to be un¬ 
wrapped, inspected, put away again; and after 
a trying-on, all the linen had to be ironed, gof¬ 
fered, crimped, or pleated afresh for them. They 
could talk of nothing but their ball dresses. 

“For my part,” said the elder, “I shall wear a 
velvet cramoisie trimmed a 1’Anglaise ”—for she 
had a passion for cramoisie, and could not per¬ 
ceive how ill the colour went with her com¬ 
plexion. “I had thought of cloth-of-gold, but 
there’s the cost of the underskirt to be consid¬ 
ered; and underskirts seem to grow dearer and 
dearer in these days. What a relief,” she went 
on, “it must be to have money and not be forced 
to set one thing against another!” 

“I,” said the younger, “must make shift with 
my old underskirt; that is, unless I can wheedle 
some money out of Papa”—for so, in their affec¬ 
tion, they called their stepfather. “Cinderella 
can take out the worst stains to-morrow with a 
little eau-de-Cologne. I believe that, if she tries, 
she can make it look as good as new; and, at all 

[US] 


Cinderella 

events, it will give her something to do instead of 
wasting an afternoon. I don’t pretend that I 
like wearing an old underskirt, and I hope to 
make dear Papa sensible of this; but against it 
I shall have the gold-flowered robe, on which I 
am determined, and my diamond stomacher, 
which is somewhat better than the common.” 

“And I, of course,” said the elder, “must wear 
my diamond spray. If only it had a ruby in the 
clasp instead of a sapphire! Rubies go so much 
better with cramoisie. ... I suppose there is no 
time now to ask the jeweller to reset it with a 
ruby.” 

“But you don’t possess a ruby, dear,” mur¬ 
mured her sister, who did possess one, and had 
no intention of lending it. “And, besides, sap¬ 
phires suit you so much better!” 

They sent for the best milliner they could find, 
to build their mob-caps in triple tiers; and for 
the best hairdresser to arrange their hair; and 
their patches were supplied by the shop to which 
all the Quality went. From time to time they 
called up Cinderella to ask her advice, for she 
had excellent taste. Cinderella advised them 

[n6] 


Cinderella 

perfectly, and even offered her services to dress 
their hair for them on the night of the ball. They 
accepted gladly enough. 

Whilst she was dressing them one asked her: 
“Cinderella, would you not like to be going to 
the ball?” 

“Alas! miss,” said Cinderella, “you are 
making fun of me. It is not for the like of me 
to be there.” 

“You are right, girl. Folks would laugh in¬ 
deed to see Cinder-slut at a ball!” 

Any one but Cinderella would have pinned on 
their mob-caps awry; and if you or I had been 
in her place, I won’t swear but that we might 
have pushed in the pins just a trifle carelessly. 
But she had no malice in her nature; she at¬ 
tired them to perfection, though they found 
fault with her all the while it was doing, and 
quite forgot to thank her when it was done. 
Let it be related, in excuse for their tempers, that 
they had passed almost two days without eating, 
so eager were they and excited. The most of 
this time they had spent in front of their mirrors, 
where they had broken more than a dozen laces 

[117] 


Cinderella 

in trying to squeeze their waists and make them 
appear more slender. They were dressed a full 
two hours before the time fixed for starting. But 
at length the coach arrived at the door. They 
were tucked into it with a hundred precautions, 
and Cinderella followed it with her eyes as long 
as she could; that is to say, until the tears rose 
and blinded them. 

She turned away weeping, back to the house, 
and crept into her dear chimney-corner; where, 
being all alone in the kitchen, she could indulge 
her misery. 

A long while she sat there. Suddenly, be¬ 
tween two heavy sobs she looked up, her eyes 
attracted by a strange blue glow on the far side 
of the hearth: and there stood the queerest lady, 
who must have entered somehow without knock¬ 
ing. 

Her powdered hair was dressed all about her 
head in the prettiest of short curls, amid which 
the most exquisite jewels—diamonds, and rubies, 
and emeralds—sparkled against the firelight. 
Her dress had wide panniers bulging over a 
skirt of lace flounces, billowy and delicate as 

[n8] 



Cinderella 

sea-foam, and a stiff bodice, shaped to the nar¬ 
rowest waist imaginable. Jewels flashed all over 
this dress—or at least Cinderella supposed them 
to be jewels, though, on second thoughts, they 
might be fireflies, butterflies, glowworms. They 
seemed at any rate to be alive, and to dart from 
one point to another of her attire. Lastly, this 
strange lady held in her right hand a short wand, 
on the end of which trembled a pale bluish-green 
flame; and it was this which had first caught 
Cinderella’s eye and caused her to look up. 

“Good evening, child,” said the visitor in a 
sharp clear voice, at the same time nodding 
kindly across the firelight. “You seem to be in 
trouble. What is the matter?” 

“I wish,” sobbed Cinderella. “I wish,” she 
began again, and again she choked. This was 
all she could say for weeping. 

“You wish, dear, that you could go to the ball; 
is it not so?” 

“Ah, yes!” said Cinderella with a sigh. 

“Well, then,” said the visitor, “be a good girl, 
dry your tears, and I think it can be managed. 
I am your godmother, you must know, and in 

[123] 


Cinderella 

younger days your mother and I were very dear 
friends.” She omitted, perhaps purposely, to 
add that she was a Fairy; but Cinderella was 
soon to discover this too. “Do you happen to 
have any pumpkins in the garden?” her god¬ 
mother asked. 

Cinderella thought this an odd question. She 
could not imagine what pumpkins had to do 
with going to a ball. But she answered that 
there were plenty in the garden—a whole bed 
of them in fact. 

“Then let us go out and have a look at them.” 

They went out into the dark garden to the 
pumpkin patch, and her godmother pointed to 
the finest of all with her wand. 

“Pick that one,” she commanded. 

Cinderella picked it, still wondering. Her 
godmother opened a fruit knife that had a 
handle of mother-of-pearl. With this she 
scooped out the inside of the fruit till only the 
rind was left; then she tapped it with her wand, 
and at once the pumpkin was changed into a 
beautiful coach all covered with gold. 

“Next we must have horses,” said her god- 

[124] 


Cinderella 

mother. “The question is, Have you such a 
thing as a mouse trap in the house?” 

Cinderella ran to look into her mouse trap, 
where she found six mice all alive. Her god¬ 
mother, following, told her to lift the door of 
the trap a little way, and as the mice ran out one 
by one she gave each a tap with her wand, and 
each mouse turned at once into a beautiful horse 
—which made a fine team of six horses, of a 
lovely grey, dappled with mouse colour. 

Now the trouble was to find a coachman. 

“I will go and see,” said Cinderella, who had 
dried her tears and was beginning to find this 
great fun, “if there isn’t such a thing as a rat in 
the rat trap. We can make a coachman of him.” 

“You are right, dear,” said her godmother; 
“run and look.” 

Cinderella fetched her the rat trap. There 
were three large rats in it. The Fairy chose one 
of the three because of his enormous whiskers, 
and at a touch he was changed into a fat coach¬ 
man. 

Next she said: “Go to the end of the garden; 
and there in the corner of the wall behind the 

[125] 


Cinderella 

watering-pot, unless I am mistaken, you will find 
six lizards. Bring them to me.” 

Cinderella had no sooner brought them than 
her godmother changed them into six footmen, 
who climbed up at once behind the coach with 
their bedizened liveries, and clung on as though 
they had been doing nothing else all their lives. 

The Fairy then said to Cinderella : “Hey now, 
child! This will do to go to the ball with, unless 
you are hard to please.” 

“Indeed, yes,” answered Cinderella. “But 
how can I go, as I am, in these horrid clothes?” 

“You might have given me credit for thinking 
of that too!” Her godmother did but touch her 
with her wand, and on the instant her rags were 
transformed into cloth of gold and silver, all be¬ 
spangled with precious stones. She felt her 
hair creeping up into curls, and tiring and ar¬ 
ranging itself in tiers, on the topmost of which a 
double ostrich feather grew from a diamond 
clasp that caught the rays of the old lady’s wand 
and shot them about the garden, this way and 
that, making the slugs and snails crawl to shelter. 

“But the chief mark of a lady,” said her 

[126] 


Cinderella 

godmother, eying her with approval, “is to be 
well shod,” and so saying she pulled out a pair 
of glass slippers, into which Cinderella poked 
her toes doubtfully, for glass is not as a rule 
an accommodating material for slippers. You 
have to be measured very carefully for it. 

But these fitted to perfection: and thus arrayed 
from top to toe, Cinderella had nothing more to 
do but kiss her godmother, thank her, and step 
into the coach, the six horses of which were paw¬ 
ing the cabbage beds impatiently. 

“Good-bye, child I” said her godmother. “But 
of one thing I must warn you seriously. I have 
power to send you thus to the ball, but my power 
lasts only until midnight. Not an instant be¬ 
yond midnight must you stay there. If you over¬ 
stay the stroke of twelve, your coach will become 
but a pumpkin again, your horses will change 
back into mice, your footmen into lizards, and 
your ball dress shrink to the same rags in which 
I found you.” 

Cinderella promised that she would not fail 
to take her departure before midnight: and, with 

[127] 


Cinderella 

that, the coachman cracked his whip and she 
was driven away, beside herself with joy. 

In the royal palace, and in the royal gardens, 
over which shone the same stars which had 
looked down upon Cinderella’s pumpkins, the 
ball was at its height: with scores and scores of 
couples dancing on the waxed floor to the music 
of the violins; and under the trees, where the 
music throbbed in faint echoes, other scores of 
couples moving, passing and repassing, listen¬ 
ing to the plash of the fountains and inhaling 
the sweet scent of the flowers. 

Now, as the King’s son walked among his 
guests, word was brought to him by his Cham¬ 
berlain that a grand Princess, whom nobody 
knew, had just arrived and desired admission. 

“She will not tell her name,” said the Cham¬ 
berlain; “but that she is a Princess and of very 
high dignity cannot be doubted. Apart from 
her beauty and the perfection of her address (of 
which your Royal Highness, perhaps, will al¬ 
low me to be no mean judge), I may mention 

[128] 



[ 129 ] 












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... n 'OfCW. 

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[130] 

























































Cinderella 

that the very jewels in her hair are worth a whole 
province.” 

The King’s son hastened to the gate to re¬ 
ceive the fair stranger, handed her down from 
the coach, and led her through the gardens, 
where the guests drew apart and gazed in won¬ 
der at her loveliness. Still escorted by him she 
entered the ballroom, where at once a great 
silence fell, the dancing was broken off, the 
violins ceased to play—so taken, so ravished was 
everybody by the vision of this unknown one. 
Everywhere ran the murmur, “Ah! how beauti¬ 
ful she is!” The King himself, old as he was, 
could not take his eyes off her, and confided to 
the Queen in a low voice that it was long since 
he had seen so adorable a creature. 

All the ladies were busily studying her head¬ 
dress and her ball-gown, that they might order 
the like next day for themselves, if only (vain 
hope!) they could find materials so exquisite and 
dressmakers clever enough. 

The King’s son took her to the place of 
honour, and afterwards led her out to dance. 
She danced so gracefully that all admired her 

[ 133 ] 


Cinderella 

yet the more. A splendid supper was served, 
but the young Prince ate nothing of it, so intent 
was he on gazing upon her. 

She went and sat by her sisters, who bridled 
with pleasure at the honour. She did them a 
thousand civilities, sharing with them the nec¬ 
tarines and citrons which the Prince brought 
her; and still not recognising her, they mar¬ 
velled at this, being quite unused (as they 
never deserved) to be selected for attentions 
so flattering. 

The King’s son now claimed her for another 
dance. It had scarcely come to an end when 
Cinderella heard the clock strike the quarter 
to twelve; whereupon she instantly desired her 
partner to lead her to the King and Queen. “For 
I must be going,” she said. 

“It is cruel of you to go so early,” he protested. 
“But at least you will come again to-morrow and 
grant me many dances?” i 

“Is there to be another ball, then, to-morrow?” 
she asked 

“To-morrow, yes; and as many morrows as 
you wish, if only you will come.” 

[ 134 ] 


Cinderella 

“Ah, if I could!” sighed Cinderella to her¬ 
self: for she was young, and it seemed to her 
that she could never have enough of such eve¬ 
nings as this, though they went on for ever and 
ever. 

The Prince led her to the dais where sat the 
King and Queen. She made a deep reverence 
before them, a slighter but no less gracious one to 
the company, and withdrew. Although she had 
given no orders, her coach stood waiting for her. 
Slipping in, she was whisked home in the time it 
would take you to wink an eye. 

She had scarcely entered the house, however, 
before she received a shock. For on the thresh¬ 
old of the kitchen, glancing down to make sure 
that her ball gown was not disarranged by this 
rapid journey, she perceived that it had vanished 
—changed back to the rags of her daily wear., 
But there, in the light of the hearth, stood her 
godmother, who smiled so pleasantly that Cin¬ 
derella choked down her little cry of disappoint¬ 
ment. 

“Well, child? And how have you fared?” 

“Godmama, I have never been so happy in 

[ 135 ] 


Cinderella 

all my life! And it is all thanks to you!” But 
after thanking her, Cinderella could not help 
confessing how she longed to go to the ball next 
evening. The King’s son had begged her to 
come again, and oh! if she had been able to 
promise! 

“As to that, child,” said her godmother, “we 
will see about it when the time comes. But it 
has been lonely, keeping watch and sitting up 
for you. Will you not reward me by telling all 
about it?” 

Cinderella needed no such invitation; she was 
dying to relate her adventures. She talked and 
talked, her godmother still smiling and ques¬ 
tioning. For two hours, maybe, she talked and 
was still recollecting a score of things to tell 
when her sisters’ coach rumbled up to the gate, 
and almost at once there came a loud ring at the 
bell. She stared and rubbed her eyes, for at the 
first sound of it her godmother had vanished! 

Cinderella ran and opened the door to her 
sisters. “What a long time you have stayed,” 
said she, yawning, rubbing her eyes, and stretch¬ 
ing herself as though she had just waked out of 

[136] 


Cinderella 

sleep. (She had felt, however, no inclination at 
all to sleep since their departure!) 

“If you had been at the ball,” said the elder sis¬ 
ter, “you would not have felt tired. One of the 
guests was the loveliest Princess—oh, the love¬ 
liest you ever could see! She showed us a thou¬ 
sand civilities. She gave us nectarines and 
citrons.” 

Cinderella contained her joy. Upstairs, while 
she unplaited her sisters’ hair and unlaced their 
bodices, she asked the name of the Princess. 
But they answered that no one knew her; that 
the King’s son was wild about her, and would 
give everything in the world to discover who she 
was. Cinderella smiled. She no longer felt 
any temptation at all to be clumsy with the hair- 
pins. 

“Why then,” she said, “she must be beautiful 
indeed. And she went away, you say, without 
telling her name? Is no one going to see her 
again?” 

“As for that she may come again to the ball 
to-morrow. I am told that the Prince begged it, 

[ 137 ] 


Cinderella 

almost with tears in his eyes. . . . For there is 
to be another ball to-morrow, and we are going!” 

“Ah, heavens!” sighed Cinderella, “how 
lucky you are! Might I not see her? Please, 
please, Sister Caroline, take me to-morrow—I 
could manage quite well if only you lent me your 
yellow gown which you wear every evening!” 

“Hoity-toity!” snapped Miss Caroline. “You 
cannot be awake. You must have been dream¬ 
ing to some purpose if you see me lending my 
clothes to a nasty little Cinder-slut!” 

Cinderella had quite well expected some such 
rebuff, and was glad enough to get it, for it 
would have been very awkward if her sister had 
been willing to lend the gown. 

The next evening the two sisters were at the 
ball; and so was Cinderella, but in even finer at¬ 
tire than before. Her godmother had spared 
no pains, and as for the expense, that hardly 
needs to be considered when you can turn pump¬ 
kins into gilt coaches, cobwebs into Valen¬ 
ciennes lace, and beetles’ wings into rubies, with 
the tap of a wand. 


[138] 


Cinderella 

The King’s son in his impatience flew to her 
coach door as soon as she arrived. Throughout 
the evening he never left her side, nor ceased to 
make pretty speeches; and she, pretty maid, was 
far from finding his behaviour tiresome—so far, 
indeed, that she forgot her godmother’s warning. 
The end was, that in the midst of a dance she 
heard the stroke of a clock, looked up, was dis¬ 
mayed to find it the first stroke of twelve when 
she believed it yet an hour short of midnight, and 
made her escape as lightly as a deer. The Prince 
followed, but could not catch her. Only she 
dropped one of her glass slippers, which he 
picked up and treasured. 

With the last stroke of twelve, coach and foot¬ 
men had whisked away, and poor Cinderella, 
barefoot now as well as in rags, panted home¬ 
ward over roads where the flints cut her until 
she bled, and the owls and great moths blundered 
out of the bushes against her face. To make 
matters worse, a thunderstorm broke before she 
had ran half the distance, and she arrived home 
in a terrible plight, muddy, drenched to the skin, 
and almost more dead than alive. In one thing 

[ 139 ] 

♦ 


Cinderella 

only she was fortunate: she had outstripped her 
sisters,whose coach on the way home lost a wheel 
—and I have a suspicion that Cinderella s god¬ 
mother had something to do with this misad¬ 
venture too. 

At all events when Cinderella opened the 
kitchen door the little lady stood as she had stood 
the night before, in the glow of the hearth, await¬ 
ing her. 

“Well, child,” she said, frowning, yet the 
frown was not altogether unkindly, “it is easily 
seen that you have forgotten my warning and 
have suffered for it. But what is that you are 
clutching?” 

Poor Cinderella drew from under her be¬ 
draggled bodice a crystal slipper, fellow to the 
missing one. It was the one remnant of all her 
finery, and somehow, scarcely knowing why, 
she had hugged it to her while she ran and never 
let it slip in all her stumblings. 

Her godmother gazed at her with a queer 
expression, that began by being a frown, yet in 
the end had certainly changed into a shrewd 
smile. 


Cinderella 

“You have been careless,” she said. “Yet I am 
pleased to see that you have managed to keep, 
at any rate, one-half of your godmother’s gift.” 
I think she meant by this that whereas all the 
rest of Cinderella s adornment had been con¬ 
trived out of something other than it was, the 
two glass slippers had been really produced out 
of the Fairy’s pocket. They alone had not van¬ 
ished at the stroke of midnight. “But what has 
become of the other one?” her godmother asked. 

Cinderella did not know for certain, but 
fancied that she must have dropped it in her 
hurry to escape from the palace. 

“Yes, you are careless,” repeated the Fairy; 
“but decidedly you are not unlucky.” 

And with that she vanished, as the bell 
sounded announcing the sisters’ return. 

They were not in the best of humours, to be¬ 
gin with. Cinderella asked them if they had 
again found the ball enjoyable, and if the beauti¬ 
ful lady had been there. They told her yes; but 
that on the stroke of twelve she had taken flight, 
and so hurriedly that she had let fall one of her 
small glass slippers, the prettiest in the world, 

[141] 


Cinderella 

which the King’s son had picked up. They 
added, that this indeed was the first cause of their 
delay; for, seeking their carriage, they had 
found the entry blocked, and the Prince in the 
wildest state of mind, demanding of the guards 
if they had not seen a Princess pass out. The 
guards answered that they had seen no one pass 
out but a ragged girl, who looked more like a 
country wench than a Princess. Amid this to- 
do, the sisters had with difficulty found their 
coach; and then, within two miles of home, a 
wheel had come off and the coach had lurched 
over, in a thunderstorm, too; and they had been 
forced to walk the rest of the way, the one with a 
bruised shoulder, and the other (which was 
worse) with a twisted ankle. But, after all, the 
dance had been worth these mischances and suf¬ 
ferings ; and, said they, harking back, the Prince 
was undoubtedly deep in love, for they had left 
him gazing fondly at the slipper, and little doubt 
—mysteriously as she chose to behave—he would 
make every effort to find the beautiful creature 
to whom it belonged. 

[142] 


9 



[143] 



The Prime Minister was kept very busy 
during the next few weeks . 




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[i44] 


























































Cinderella 

They told the truth, too. For a few days after, 
the King’s son had it proclaimed by sound of 
trumpet that he would marry her whose foot the 
slipper exactly fitted. 

At first they tried it on the Princesses of the 
Court: 

Then on the Duchesses: 

Then on the Marchionesses: 

Then on the Countesses and Viscountesses: 

Then on the Baronesses: 

And so on, through all the ladies of the Court, 
and a number of competitors, who, though they 
did not belong to it, yet supposed that the small¬ 
ness of their feet was an argument that their 
parents had very unjustly come down in the 
world. The Prime Minister, who carried the 
glass slipper on a velvet cushion, was kept very 
busy during the next few weeks. 

At length he called on Cinderella s two sisters, 
who did all they could to squeeze a foot into the 
slipper, but by no means could they succeed. 

Cinderella, who was looking on and admiring 
their efforts, said laughingly:— 

“Let me see if it will fit me.” 

[i47] 


Cinderella 

Her sisters began to laugh and mock at her, 
but the Prime Minister, who had come to make 
trial of the slipper, looked at Cinderella atten¬ 
tively, and seeing how good-looking she was, 
said that it was but just—he had orders to try it 
upon every one. 

He asked Cinderella to sit down, and drawing 
the slipper upon her little foot, he saw that it 
went on easily, and fitted the foot like wax. 
Great was the astonishment of the two sisters; 
but it was greater when Cinderella pulled from 
her pocket the other little slipper and put it 
upon the other foot. On top of this came a rap 
at the door, and in walked the Fairy Godmother, 
who, by a touch of her wand upon Cinderella’s 
clothes, made them still more magnificent than 
they had been before. 

And now her two sisters knew Cinderella to 
be the same beautiful creature they had seen at 
the ball. They threw themselves at her feet, 
begging her pardon for all the ill-usage they had 
made her suffer. Cinderella raised and kissed 
them, saying that she forgave them with all her 

[148] 


Cinderella 

heart, and entreated them to be loving to her 
always. 

They led her to the young Prince, arrayed as 
she was. He thought her lovelier than ever, and, 
a few days after, they were married. Cinderella, 
who was as good as she was beautiful, lodged 
her two sisters in the palace, and married them 
that same day to two great Lords of the Court. 

MORAL 

Better than wealth or art, 

Jewels or a painted face, 

It is when a natural heart 
Inhabits its natural place 
And beats at a natural pace. 


ANOTHER 

Yet youth that is poor of purse, 

No matter how witty or handsome, 
Will find its talents no worse 
For a godmamma to advance ’em. 


[149] 



[i5o] 





BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 








































BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 


O NCE upon a time, in a country a long 
way from here, there stood a flourishing 
city, full of commerce; and in that city 
lived a merchant so lucky in all his ventures that 
it seemed as if fortune waited on his wishes. 
But while enormously rich, he had a very large 
family of six sons and six daughters; and as yet 
not one of them was settled in life. The boys 
were too young to go out in the world; and the 
girls, who had everything at home the heart 
could desire, were in no hurry to risk a change 
by choosing a husband, although many rich and 
noble suitors paid court to them. 

[153] 


I 









Beauty and the Beast 

But one day an unexpected disaster brought 
this pleasant state of things to an end. Their 
house caught fire and was burnt to the ground; 
and with it perished not only the magnificent 
furniture, but the merchant’s account books, 
bank notes, gold and silver, and the precious 
wares on which his wealth depended. Scarcely 
anything was saved. 

This was but the beginning of their misfor¬ 
tunes. Their father, who up to now had pros¬ 
pered in everything he touched, lost in a very 
short while every ship he had upon the sea. 
Some were wrecked, others captured by pirates. 
His agents failed; his clerks in foreign countries 
proved unfaithful; and, in short, from the height 
of riches he suddenly fell into the direst poverty. 

Nothing was left to him but one poor little 
country cottage, at least a hundred leagues from 
the city in which he had lived. In this he was 
driven to find refuge, and to this he carried off 
his family, who were in despair since the over¬ 
throw. The daughters especially could not en¬ 
dure the thought of dwelling in such a den (as 
they called it). At first they had felt sure that 

[154] 


Beauty and the Beast 

on hearing the news their suitors would be trip¬ 
ping one another up in haste to renew their of¬ 
fers of marriage. But in this they were soon 
undeceived. Their downfall was no sooner 
known than all these flattering wooers took to 
their heels in a troop. They fared no better with 
their intimate friends, who at once dropped their 
acquaintance. Nay, those to whom our mer¬ 
chant had formerly shown the greatest kindness 
were now the most eager to speak ill of him. 

So nothing was left for this hapless family 
but to take their departure from the city and 
shut themselves up in the cottage, which stood 
in the depth of a dismal and almost trackless 
forest. No servants now to wait on them! The 
sons tilled the ground and swept out the farm 
sheds; and the daughters, dressed like country 
girls in coarse linen frocks, were forced to turn 
their delicate hands to the roughest employment 
and live on hard fare of which there was little 
enough. 

Only the youngest daughter showed a brave 
heart. She had been despondent as any of them 
to begin with; but after weeping—as well she 

[155] 


Beauty and the Beast 

might—for her father’s misfortunes, she recov¬ 
ered her natural gaiety, made the best of things, 
tried to forget how ungrateful the world had 
been, kept her father and her brothers amused 
with her cheerful wit, and after she had done 
her work, would sing and play. But her sisters 
would not join with her in making the best of 
things. “It is very easy for you to be happy,” 
the eldest grumbled. “You have low tastes and 
were born for this kind of life.” The fact is, they 
were all jealous of her because of her sweet tem¬ 
per and good looks. So beautiful, indeed, was 
this youngest sister that in the old days every 
one had agreed to call her Beauty —by that and 
by no other name she was known. Alone of 
them she might easily, in the first days of their 
ruin, have found a husband; but she could not 
think of this while she could be of use to help 
and console her family. 

Two years passed, and there came news which 
seemed to offer a hope to escape. One of their 
father’s ships, long supposed to be lost, had ar¬ 
rived in port with a rich cargo. The message 
further advised his return to the city with speed, 

[156] 


Beauty and the Beast 

or his agents might sell the goods too cheaply 
and he would lose his gains. So, whilst his 
children danced with joy at the news, the mer¬ 
chant set about preparing for his long journey. 

In their transport his daughters loaded him 
with commissions for gowns and jewels it would 
have taken a fortune to buy. Only Beauty 
would not ask for anything. Her father, noting 
her silence, interrupted the others who still kept 
adding to their list of requirements. 

“Well, Beauty,” he said, “and what shall I 
bring home for you? Surely you, too, wish 
for something?” 

“Dear father,” she answered, “I wish for the 
most precious thing in the world; and that is 
to see you home again safe and sound.” 

This answer covered the sisters with con¬ 
fusion, and vexed them so that one of them, 
speaking up for the others, said tartly: “This 
small miss is putting on airs. She thinks, no 
doubt, she cuts a figure with her affected fine 
sentiments!” 

Her father, however, was touched by her good 
feeling. Nevertheless he told her to choose some 

[ 157 ] 


Beauty and the Beast 

thing—“For,” said he, “at your age it is only 
natural to like dresses and pretty presents.” 

“Well, dear father,” said she, “since you in¬ 
sist, I will beg you to bring me home a rose. I 
have not seen one since we came to live here, and 
I love roses.” In this way Beauty contrived to 
obey her father and yet to put him to no expense. 

The day came for the merchant to embrace 
them all and bid them farewell. He made the 
best of his way to the great city; and arrived 
there to be met with a great disappointment. To 
be sure his vessel had come safely to port; but 
his partners, believing him dead, had taken pos¬ 
session of it and divided the cargo between them. 
To make good his claim he was forced to bring 
a number of tedious lawsuits. He won them 
in the end; but only to find, after six months of 
trouble and expense, that he was almost as poor 
as when he started. 

To make his misery complete he was forced 
to travel back in the winter, in the most inclem¬ 
ent weather; so that by the time he reached the 
skirts of the forest he was ready to drop with 
fatigue. But reminding himself that his home 

[ 158 ] 


i 



[159] 



He had been fasting for more than twenty 
four hours , and lost no time in falling-to . 



fi6ol 













































Beauty and the Beast 

was now not many leagues away, he called up 
what strength remained to him. 

As he pushed on through the forest, night 
overtook him; and in the piercing cold, half- 
buried—his horse and he—in the deep snow that 
hid every pathway, the poor merchant feared 
that his last hour had come. Not so much as a 
hut did he pass. The only shelter to be found 
was the trunk of a hollow tree; and there he 
cowered through the long night, kept awake by 
his hunger and the howling of the wolves. Nor 
did the day bring him much comfort: for thick 
snow lay everywhere, and not a path was to be 
seen. It was only after a weary search that he 
managed to recover his horse, which had wan¬ 
dered away and partly sheltered itself in another 
hollow tree. He mounted, and now in a little 
while discovered a sort of track which presently 
grew easier. 

Following this, he found himself in an avenue 
of trees, at the entrance of which he halted and 
rubbed his eyes. For no snow had fallen in this 
avenue, and the trees were tall orange-trees, 
planted in four rows and covered with flowers 

[163] 


Beauty and the Beast 

and fruit; and here and there among the 
trees were statues, some of single figures, others 
of groups representing scenes of war, but all 
coloured like real life. At the end of the avenue, 
straight in front of him, rose a magnificent castle 
in many terraces. The merchant rode around 
to the stable courtyard, which he found empty; 
and there, with half-frozen hands, he unbridled 
and stabled his horse. Within the doorway he 
found a staircase of agate with balusters of 
carved gold. He mounted it and passed through 
room after room, each more splendidly fur¬ 
nished than the last. They were deliciously 
warm, too, and he began to feel his limbs again. 
But he was hungry; where could he find some 
one to give him food? Everywhere was silence; 
and yet the place had no look of being aban¬ 
doned. Drawing-rooms, bedchambers, galleries 
—all stood unlocked. ... At last, tired of 
roaming, he came to a halt in an apartment 
where some one had lit a bright fire. A sofa 
drawn up cosily beside it, invited him to sit and 
warm his limbs; and resting there, he closed his 
eyes and fell into deep and grateful slumber. 

[164] 



Beauty and the Beast 

As weariness had sent him to sleep, so hunger 
awoke him. He opened his eyes and saw at his 
elbow a table with meats and wine upon it. He 
had been fasting for more than twenty-four 
hours, and lost no time in falling-to. He hoped 
that he might soon have sight of this most hos¬ 
pitable entertainer, whoever he might be, and an 
opportunity of thanking him. Still no one ap¬ 
peared; and now this good food did for him what 
fatigue had done before. He dropped off again 
into an easy slumber which lasted for four hours 
almost. Again awaking, he saw at his elbow an¬ 
other small table—of porphyry this time—upon 
which the unknown hands had set out a dainty 
meal of cakes, crystallised fruits and liqueurs. 
To this, too, he did justice. But, as the time still 
passed and no one appeared, he began to feel ter¬ 
rified, and resolved to search once more through 
all the rooms. . . . But still he found no one. 

He was standing lost in thought, when of a 
sudden it came into his mind that some kindly 
power had perhaps prepared this palace of won¬ 
der for him, that it with all its riches might in¬ 
deed be his. Possessed by this notion he once 

[165] 


Beauty and the Beast 

again made a tour of the rooms and took stock 
of their treasures, planning in his mind how 
he would divide them amongst his children, as¬ 
signing this apartment to one and that to an¬ 
other, and whispering to himself what joy he 
would carry home after all from his journey. • 
Then he went down into the garden, where— 
though it was the depth of winter—the birds 
were singing and the air breathed the scent of a 
thousand flowers. 

“Surely,” he told himself, “my daughters 
will be happy here and never desire any more to 
go back to the city. Quick! Let me saddle my 
horse at once and ride home with the news!” 

The way to the stable was an alley fenced on 
either hand with palings, and over the pailings 
hung great clusters of roses in bloom. They 
reminded him of his promise to Beauty. He 
plucked one, and was about to pluck a whole 
nosegay, when he was startled by a horrible noise 
behind him, and attempted to turn. But be¬ 
hind him stood a hideous Beast who was over¬ 
taking him and reaching out towards him. 

“Who gave you leave to pluck my roses?” 

[166] 


Beauty and the Beast 

roared this monster. “Was it not enough that 
I made you welcome in my palace and treated 
you kindly? And you show your gratitude by 
stealing my flowers! But your insolence shall 
not go unpunished!” 

The good merchant, terrified no less by the 
sight of this Beast than by his threats, let drop 
the rose and flung himself on his knees. 

“My Lord,” he cried, “have pity on me! I 
am not ungrateful; but after all your kindness 
I could not guess that so small a thing would 
offend you.” 

This speech did not at all abate the Beast’s 
wrath. “Hold your tongue, sir,” he com¬ 
manded, “if you can offer me nothing but flat¬ 
teries and false titles. I am not ‘my lord.’ I am 
the Beast; and your words will not save you from 
the death you deserve.” 

The merchant, although in fear of his life, 
plucked up courage to tell the monster that the 
rose which he had been bold to pluck was for 
one of his daughters, by name Beauty. Then, in 
hope either to delay the Beast’s vengeance or to 
touch his compassion, he launched into the tale 

[167] 


Beauty and the Beast 

of all his misfortunes, and of his reasons for the 
journey, not forgetting to mention Beauty again 
and her request. 

The Beast considered for a moment before 
answering him in a somewhat milder tone: “I 
will forgive you; but only on condition that you 
give me one of your daughters. Some one must 
make amends for this trespass.” 

“Heaven forgive me,” the merchant entreated, 
“but how can I promise such a thing! Even 
were I cruel enough to purchase my life at the 
cost of a child, on what excuse could I bring 
her?” 

“No excuse is necessary,” replied the Beast 
shortly. “Whichever you bring must come here 
of her own free will, or not at all. Go home and 
try if there be one brave and loving enough to 
sacrifice herself to save your life. You seem to 
be an honest man. Give me your word to re¬ 
turn here at the end of a month and bring which¬ 
ever of your daughters you can persuade to come 
with you. If you can persuade none of them, 
you must come alone; and I warn you that, if 
you fail of it, I shall come and fetch you.” 

[168] 


Beauty and the Beast 

What was the poor man to do? He promised, 
for he saw death staring him in the face; and 
having given his promise he hoped to be al¬ 
lowed to depart. But the Beast informed him 
that he could not go until next day. 

“Then,” said he, “at daybreak you will find a 
horse ready for you who will carry you home 
in less than no time. Now go and eat your sup¬ 
per, and await my commands.” 

The merchant, more dead than alive, crept 
back to his rooms. There, before a blazing fire, 
he found a delicious supper spread, inviting him 
to eat. But so distraught was he that no food, 
however delicious, could have tempted him had 
he not been afraid that the Beast might be hid¬ 
ing somewhere to watch him. In fear of this he 
forced himself to sit and taste of the dishes. 

A loud noise in the next room warned him that 
the Beast was coming. Since he could not es¬ 
cape, he mustered what courage he could to con¬ 
ceal his terror, and faced about to the doorway. 

“Have you made a good supper?” was the 
Beast’s first question. 

The merchant in humblest voice answered 

[169] 


Beauty and the Beast 

that, thanks to his host’s kind attention, he had 
fared excellently well. 

“I am paying you a visit,” said the Beast, “to 
warn you again to be honest with your daughter. 
Describe me to her just as I am. Let her be free 
to choose whether she will come or no; but tell 
her that, her course once chosen, there can be no 
retreat, nor even reflection after you have 
brought her to me. To break faith then will 
avail nothing: she will but destroy you without 
winning her own release.” 

Again the spirit-broken merchant repeated his 
promise. 

The Beast appeared to be content at length. 
“Retire to bed now,” he commanded, “and do 
not get up to-morrow until you see the sun and 
hear a golden bell rung. Then, before starting, 
you will find breakfast laid for you here; your 
horse will be standing ready saddled in the court¬ 
yard; and you may carry back the rose to your 
daughter Beauty —as you call her. For the rest, 
I count on seeing you back in a month’s time. 
So, farewell.” 

The merchant, who dared not disobey a single 

[170] 


Beauty and the Beast 

one of these orders, retired to bed at once, though 
without any temptation to sleep; and again, 
though he passed a wretched night, he was 
punctual to rise with the sun. A golden bell 
rang; and prompt on the sound he found break¬ 
fast laid, still by unseen hands. After break¬ 
fast he went down to the stables, and on his way 
paused to pick up the rose, which lay in the alley 
where it had dropped from his hand. It was 
fresh as ever, and smelt as sweetly as though it 
yet grew on the tree. 

A few paces further on he found his horse 
standing ready saddled, with a handsome cloak 
of furs, far warmer than his own, lying across 
the saddle. He put it on and mounted, and now 
he had to wonder at yet another miracle. His 
horse set off at incredible speed, so that before 
he could even turn in the saddle the palace had 
sunk out of sight. 

Could the horse have felt the weight on the 
good man’s mind, it had never made such a pace. 
But it took its own way, insensible to rein or 
bridle; nor halted until it reached the door of 
the cottage. 

[I7i] 


Beauty and the Beast 

The merchant’s sons and daughters had 
rushed out at his approach; though it was not 
until he drew quite close that they recognised 
their father in this horseman superbly cloaked, 
with a rose at his holster, and mounted on a horse 
that travelled at such a speed. When they recog¬ 
nised him, they made sure that he brought the 
best of news. But the tears that trickled down 
his cheeks as he dismounted told them another 
story. 

His first motion then was to pluck the fatal 

rose from the pommel and hand it to Beauty, 

• • 

saying: “Here is what you asked me to bring. 
You little know what it will cost you all.” 

This, and his sorrowful look, gave the eldest 
daughter her cue. “I was certain of it!” she 
said. “Did I not say, all along, that to force a 
rose at this time of the year would cost you more 
than would have bought presents for all the rest 
of us? A rose, in mid-winter! and such a rose! 
There—one has only to look at it to see that you 
took good care Beauty should have her present, 
no matter at what cost to us!” 

“It is all too true,” answered their father sor- 

[172] 


Beauty and the Beast 

rowfully, “that this rose has cost me dear—far 
dearer than all the presents you others begged 
of me. But the cost is not in money; for would 
to God I could have bought it with the last penny 
in my purse!” 

His speech, you may be sure, excited their 
curiosity, and they gave him no rest until he 
had told the whole of his story. It left their 
hopes utterly dashed: and the daughters 
lamented their lot, while their brothers hardily 
declared that they would never allow their father 
to return to this accursed castle—they would 
march thither in a body and destroy the horrible 
Beast who owned it. But their father assured 
them that he had given his word and would 
rather die than break it. 

Thereat the sisters turned upon Beauty and 
started to upbraid and rail against her. 

“It is all your fault,” they declared; “and this 
is what comes of your pretended modesty! Why 
could you not have asked for dresses and jewels 
as we did? Even if you could not get them, at 
least the demand would have cost nothing. But 
you chose to be singular—you, with youi; 

[173] 


Beauty and the Beast 

precious rose! and now our father must die, and 
we must all suffer through your affectation!” 

Poor Beauty controlled her tears and an¬ 
swered them: “Yes, I am to blame for all this, 
though, indeed, dear sisters, I did it innocently; 
for how could I guess that to ask for a rose in 
the middle of summer, as it was then, would 
give rise to all this misery? But what does that 
matter? Innocent or guilty, I cannot allow you 
to suffer for what was my fault; and so I will go 
back with our father to save him from his prom¬ 
ise. That will be in a month’s time, and in this 
little month, I beg of you, let us be happy to¬ 
gether without reproaches.” 

At first her brothers would not hear of any 
such sacrifice, and her father was equally set 
against it, until the sisters again fired up in 
their jealousy and accused him of being dis¬ 
tressed only because it happened to be Beauty; 
if another of his daughters (they hinted) had 
offered to pay this price for his life, he would 
have accepted it cheerfully enough! 

Beauty closed this talk by saying firmly that, 
whether they wished it or not, she would go— 

[i74] 


Beauty and the Beast 

“And who knows,” said she, forcing a brave 
smile, “but this fate of mine, which seems so ter¬ 
rible, may cover some extraordinary and happy 
fortune?” She said it merely to hearten them; 
but her sisters, fancying her deluded by vanity 
and self-conceit, smiled maliciously and ap¬ 
plauded. So their father gave way, and it was 
agreed that Beauty must go. For her part she 
desired only that the few days remaining to her 
might be as happy as possible; and so, as they 
passed she spoke little of what was before her, 
and if at all, only to treat it lightly and as a piece 
of good fortune. When the time drew near she 
shared up all her trinkets and little possessions 
with her sisters—for, badly as they had treated 
her, they were the only friends she had. Yet 
jealousy had made their hearts so wicked that 
when the fatal day arrived they actually rejoiced 
to hear the neighing of a horse which, punctu¬ 
ally sent by the Beast, arrived at the door of the 
cottage. 

The brothers would have rushed out and slain 
the beautiful animal; but Beauty, mastering 
their anger with a few tender words, bade her 

[175] 


Beauty and the Beast 

father mount into the saddle; and so, after bid¬ 
ding her sisters farewell with a tenderness that 
forced them to weep at the last, climbed to the 
pillion behind him quite as if she were setting 
out for a holiday. They were off! The horse 
seemed to fly rather than to gallop; so smoothly 
that Beauty could scarcely feel the motion save 
by the soft wind that beat on her cheek. Soon 
they caught sight of the castle in the distance. 
Her father, less happy than she, again and again 
asked and begged her to alight and return—a 
most idle offer, for he had no real control of 
the reins. But Beauty did not listen, because her 
mind was made up. 

Nevertheless, she was awed, and all the more 
when as the fleet horse galloped up to the court¬ 
yard, they were met by a great salvo of guns 
and, as the echoes died away, by the sound of 
soft music within the palace. 

The horse had come to a stop, by a flight of 
agate steps; a light shone down these steps from 
a porchway within which the violins kept their 
throbbing. Beauty slipped down from the 
saddle, and her father, alighting after her, took 

[176] 



[177] 







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[178] 



























































Beauty and the Beast 

her by the hand and led her to the chamber in 
which he had first supped; where, sure enough, 
they found a cheerful fire and a score of candles 
lit and burning with an exquisite perfume, and 
—best of all—a table laid with the daintiest of 
suppers. 

The merchant, accustomed to the ways of their 
host, knew that the supper was meant for them, 
and Beauty fell-to with a good appetite. Her 
spirits indeed were rising. There had been no 
sign of any Beast in all the many rooms through 
which she had passed, and everything in them 
had seemed to breathe of gaiety and good living. 

But this happy frame of mind did not last 
long. They had scarcely finished supper when 
the Beast was heard coming through the distant 
rooms. At the sound—the heavy padding of his 
feet, the roar of his breath —Beauty clung to 
her father in terror, and had almost fainted 
against the arm which he flung around her. But 
when the Beast stood before her in the doorway, 
after a little shudder she walked towards him 
with a firm step, and, halting at a little distance, 
saluted him respectfully. This behaviour evi- 

[181] 


Beauty and the Beast 

dently pleased the Beast. After letting his eyes 
rest on her face for a while, he said, in a tone that 
might well have struck terror into the boldest 
heart (and yet it did not seem to be angry):— 

“Good evening, my good sir! Good evening, 
Beauty!” 

The merchant was too far terrified to find his 
voice; but Beauty controlled hers and answered 
sweetly:— 

“Good evening, Beast!” 

“Have you come here of your own free will?” 
asked the Beast. “And are you willing to let 
your father return and leave you here?” 

Beauty answered that she was quite willing. 

“Indeed? And yet what do you suppose will 
happen to you after he has gone?” 

“Sir,” said Beauty, “that is as it pleases you, 
and you only can tell.” 

“Well answered,” replied the Beast; “and 
since you have come of your own accord, you 
shall stay. As for you, my good sir,” said he to 
the merchant, “you will take your departure at 
sunrise. The bell will give you warning; delay 
not to rise, eat your breakfast, and depart as be- 

[182] 


Beauty and the Beast 

fore. But remember that you are forbidden ever 
to come within sight of my palace again.” 

Then, turning to Beauty, he said:— 

“Take your father into the next room, and 
choose between you everything you think will 
please your brothers and sisters. You will find 
there two traveling trunks: fill them as full as 
they will hold.” 

Sorrowful as she was at the certainty of los¬ 
ing her father so soon and for ever, Beauty made 
ready to obey the Beast’s orders, and he left them 
as he had come, saying:— 

“Good night, Beauty! Good night, good sir 1” 
When they were alone, Beauty and her father 
went into the next room, which proved to be a 
store-chamber piled with treasures a king and 
queen might have envied. After choosing and 
setting apart in heaps,—one for each of her sis¬ 
ters,—the most magnificent dresses she could 
find, Beauty opened a cupboard which had a 
door of crystal framed in gold and stood for a 
moment dazzled by the precious stones that lay 
piled on every shelf. After choosing a vast num¬ 
ber and adding them to her heaps, she opened yet 

[183] 


Beauty and the Beast 

another wardrobe and found it full of money in 
gold pieces. This set her pondering. 

“I think, father,” she said, “that we had bet¬ 
ter empty these trunks again, and fill them with 
money. For money can always be turned to ac¬ 
count, whereas to sell these precious stones you 
would have to go to some jeweller, who very 
likely would cheat you, and perhaps be sus¬ 
picious of them. But with these pieces of gold 
you can buy land, houses, furniture, jewels— 
what you will—and no one will ask any ques¬ 
tions.” 

Her father agreed. Yet he first of all tried 
to make room for the money by emptying out 
the few things he had packed for himself. 
But this was no good: for it seemed that the 
trunks were made in folds which opened the 
wider the more he put in. Somehow the more 
they packed, the more room there seemed to be, 
and they ended by replacing all the dresses and 
precious stones they had taken out. But now 
the trunks were so heavy that an elephant would 
have sunk under them. 

“It is all a cheat!” cried the merchant. “The 

[184] 


Beauty and the Beast 

Beast is mocking us, and only pretended to give 
us these things, knowing that I could not carry 
them away.” 

“Wait a little,” advised Beauty. “That would 
be a sorry jest, and I cannot help thinking that 
the Beast is honest; and that since he offered 
these gifts he will find you also the means to 
carry them. The best thing we can do is to 
strap up the trunks and leave them ready here.” 

So they did this and went back to the little 
room, where to their amazement they found a 
breakfast laid on the table. For a moment they 
could scarcely believe that the night had flown 
by whilst they were occupied in ransacking the 
treasure chamber and packing the trunks. But, 
glancing at the windows, they saw that day was 
indeed breaking; and presently a bell sounded, 
warning the merchant to eat quickly and depart. 

He finished his meal, and they went down to¬ 
gether to the courtyard, where two horses stood 
ready—the one laden with the two trunks, the 
other saddled for the merchant to ride. And 
now Beauty and her father would fain have 
spent a long time in bidding one another fare- 

[185] 


Beauty and the Beast 

well, but the two horses neighed and pawed 
the ground so impatiently that he was afraid to 
linger. Tearing himself from his daughter’s 
arms he mounted in haste, and could scarcely 
turn to say good-bye before both horses sprang 
away swift as the wind and he was lost to sight in 
an instant. 

Poor Beauty! She gazed and gazed through 
her tears, and so mounted the stairs sorrowfully 
back to her own chamber. On reaching it she 
felt herself oppressed with sleepiness, for she had 
passed the night without undressing, and, more¬ 
over, for a month past her sleep had been broken 
and haunted with terrors. So, having nothing 
better to do, she went to bed, and was nestling 
down in the perfumed sheets when her eyes fell 
on the little table by the bedside. Some one had 
set a cup of hot chocolate there, and half asleep, 
she reached out her hand for it and drank it; 
whereupon her eyes closed and she fell into a de¬ 
licious slumber, such as she had not known since 
the day when her father brought home the fatal 
rose. 

She dreamed that she was walking alongside 

[186] 


Beauty and the Beast 

an endless canal, the banks of which were bor¬ 
dered with tall orange-trees and myrtles in 
flower. There, as she wandered disconsolately 
lamenting her fate, of a sudden a young Prince 
stood before her. He was handsome as the God 
of Love in picture-books, and when he spoke it 
was with a voice that went straight to her heart. 
“Dear Beauty,” he said, “you are not so unfortu¬ 
nate as you suppose. It is here you shall find 
the reward of your goodness, denied to you else¬ 
where. Use your wits to find me out under the 
disguise which hides me—that is, if as I stand 
here now you find me not altogether con¬ 
temptible. For I love you tenderly—you alone 
—and in making me happy you can attain to 
your own happiness. Beloved, never distrust 
your own true heart, and it shall lead you where 
the heart has nothing left to desire!” So saying, 
the charming apparition knelt at her feet, and 
again besought her to accept his devotion and 
become mistress over all his life. 

“Ah! What can I do to make you happy?” 
she asked earnestly. 

“Only be grateful,” he answered, “and do not 

[187] 


Beauty and the Beast 

believe all that your eyes would tell you. Above 
all, do not abandon me until you have rescued 
me from the cruel sufferings I endure.” 

With that the dream melted away, but only to 
be succeeded by another. She found herself 
face to face with a stately and beautiful lady; 
and the lady was speaking to her with dignity, 
yet most kindly. 

“Dear Beauty she said, “do not grieve for 
what you have left behind; a far higher destiny 
lies before you. Only, if you would deserve it, 
beware of being misled by appearances.” 

Beauty found her dreams so agreeable that 
she was in no hurry at all to awake, and even 
when her eyes opened to the daylight she had 
more than half a mind to close them again. But 
a clock, chiming out her own name twelve times, 
warned her that it was midday and time to get 
up. She rose, therefore, and found her dress¬ 
ing-table set out with brushes and combs and 
everything she could want; and having dressed 
carefully, and with a lightness of heart for which 
she found it hard to account, she passed into the 
next room and found her dinner on the table. 

[188] 


V 



[i8 9 ] 



[190] 





























































^ r 






Beauty and the Beast 

Dinner does not take very long when you are 
all by yourself. Beauty, when she had eaten 
enough, sat down on a sofa and began to think of 
the handsome youth she had seen in her dream. 
“He told me I could make him happy. Why, 
then, it must be that the horrible Beast, who ap¬ 
pears to be master here, is keeping him a pris¬ 
oner. How can I set him free? . . . They both 
warned me not to trust to appearances. It is all 
very puzzling. . . . But one thing is clear at 
any rate, that I am very silly to be vexing my 

head over a dream. I will forget all about it, 

% 

and look for something to do to amuse myself.” 

She sprang up, and started to make a tour of 
discovery through the many rooms of the palace. 
They were even grander than she had expected. 
The first she entered was lined with mirrors from 
floor to ceiling, where she saw herself reflected 
on every side. The next thing to catch her eye 
was a bracelet, hanging from one of the chan¬ 
deliers. Set in the bracelet was a gold locket, 
and opening this she was startled indeed; for it 
contained a portrait in miniature of the gallant 
youth she had seen in her dream. She could 

[ 193 ] 


Beauty and the Beast 

not be mistaken; so closely were his features en¬ 
graved on her memory—yes, and, it may be, on 
her heart. She slipped the bracelet on her 
wrist, without stopping to think that it did not 
belong to her, and went on to explore further. 
She passed into a long picture gallery, and 
there again she met the Prince’s face. It smiled 
down at her, this time from a life-sized portrait, 
and it seemed to smile so wistfully that she 
caught herself blushing. 

From the gallery her steps had led her to a 
chamber filled with instruments of music. 
Beauty was an accomplished musician; so, sit¬ 
ting down, she amused herself by tuning and try¬ 
ing over one instrument after another; but she 
liked the harp best because that went best with 
her voice. 

Leaving the music-room at length, she found 
herself in a long chamber like the picture gal¬ 
lery, but lined with books. It held an immense 
library; and Beauty, ever since she had lived in 
the country, had been forced to do without read¬ 
ing, for her father had sold all his books to pay 
his debts. Now, as her eyes travelled along the 

[i94] 


Beauty and the Beast 

mr 

shelves, she knew she need never have any fear 
that time would pass heavily here. The dusk was 
gathering before she had half-studied even the 
titles of the thousands of volumes; and numbers 
of candles, waxen and scented, in chandeliers 
with lustres of diamonds and rubies, were begin¬ 
ning to light themselves in every room. 

In due time Beauty found supper laid and 
served for her, with the same good taste and or¬ 
derliness as before, and still she had seen no liv¬ 
ing face. What did this matter? Her father 
had warned her that she would be solitary; and 
she was beginning to tell herself that she could 
be solitary here without much discomfort, when 
she heard the noise of the Beast approaching. 
She could not help trembling a little: for she 
had not yet found herself alone with him, and 
knew not what would happen—he might even 
be coming to devour her. But when he ap¬ 
peared he did not seem at all ferocious. 

“Good evening, Beauty,” he said gruffly. 

“Good evening, Beast,” she answered gently, 
but shaking a little. 

[195] 



Beauty and the Beast 

“Do you think you can be content here?” he 
asked. 

Beauty answered politely that it ought not to 
be hard to live happily in such a beautiful 
palace. 

After this they talked for an hour, and in the 
course of their talk Beauty began to excuse many 
things in the Beast —his voice, for example. 
With such a nose how could he help roaring 
through it? Really he appeared to be wanting 
in tact rather than purposely terrible; though, 
to be sure, this want of tact terrified her cruelly, 
when at length he blurted out:— 

“Will you be my wife, Beauty ?” 

“Ah! I am lost!” thought Beauty. The Beast 
could not be so dull-witted after all, for, though 
she kept the cry to herself, he answered quickly, 
and just as if she had uttered it aloud:— 

“Not at all. I wish you to answer just ‘yes’ or 
‘no.’ ” 

“Oh 1 no, Beast.” 

“Very well, then,” said this tractable monster. 
“Since you will not, I had best be going. Good 
night, Beauty.” 


[196] 





Beauty and the Beast 

“Good night, Beast,” answered Beauty, re¬ 
lieved of her fright. She felt sure now that he 
did not mean to hurt her, and as soon as he had 
taken his leave she went off to bed, and was 
asleep in no time. 

But almost as quickly she was dreaming, and 
in her dream at once she saw her unknown lover 
standing beside her, handsome as ever, but more 
sorrowful than before. 

“Dear Beauty,” he said, “why are you so cruel 
to me? I love you the better for being so stub¬ 
born, and yet it lengthens out my misery.” 

She could not understand this at all. Her 
dream wavered and it seemed to her that he took 
a hundred different shapes in it. Now he had 
a crown between his hands and was offering it to 
her; now he was kneeling at her feet; now he 
smiled, radiant with joy; and again he buried 
his head in despair and wept till the sound of his 
sobbing pierced her heart. Thus, in one aspect 
or another, he was with her the night through. 
She awoke with him in her thoughts, and her 
first act was to unclasp the locket on her wrist 
and assure herself that the miniature was like 

[i97] 


Beauty and the Beast 

him. It certainly was the same face, and his, 
too, was the face that smiled down from the 
larger portrait in the gallery. But the face in 
the locket gave her a more secret joy and she 
unclasped and gazed on it again and again. 

This morning she went down into the gar¬ 
dens, where the sun shone inviting her to ramble. 
They were beyond imagination lovely. Here 
stood a statue showered over with roses; there 
fountain on fountain played and threw a refresh¬ 
ing spray so high in the air that her eyes could 
scarcely reach to its summit. But what most 
surprised her was that every nook and corner 
recalled those she had seen in her dreams with 
the unknown Prince standing beside her. At 
length she came to the long canal with the 
oranges and myrtles in the shade of which she 
had first seen him approach. It was the very 
spot, and she could no longer disbelieve that her 
dreams were real. She felt sure, now, that he 
must somehow be imprisoned here, and resolved 
to get at the truth that very evening, should the 
Beast repeat his visit. 

Tired at length of wandering, she returned to 

[198] 


Beauty and the Beast 

the palace and discovered a new room full of 
materials for work to engage the most idle— 
tapebags, distaffs and shuttles, frames for 
tapestry, ribbons to make into bows, silks for 
embroidery, scissors, and thimbles. Beyond this 
needlework room a door opened upon the most 
wonderful sight of all—an aviary full of the 
rarest birds, yet all so tame that they flew to 
Beauty, and perched themselves on her shoul¬ 
ders. 

“Dear birds,” she said, “I wish you were close 
to my own room, that I might sit and hear you 
singing.” 

She had scarcely said it when, opening a door 
beyond the aviary, she found herself in her own 
chamber—yes, her very own!—which she had 
thought to be quite on the other side of the build¬ 
ing. The door, when she came to examine it, 
had a shutter which could be opened to hear, and 
closed again when she grew tired of it. This 
aviary opened on another inhabited by parrots, 
parroquets, and cockatoos. These no sooner 
saw Beauty than they began to scream and chat¬ 
ter; one wishing her “Good morning,” another 

[199] 




Beauty and the Beast 

inviting her to luncheon, while a third yet more 
gallant cried “Kiss me! Kiss me!” Others 
again whistled airs from grand opera or de¬ 
claimed pieces of poetry by the best authors. It 
was plain that in their several ways they all had 
the same object—to amuse her. 

Beyond the aviaries lay a monkey house. 
Here were apes of all sorts—Barbary apes, 
mandarin apes, apes with blue faces, baboons, 
marmosets, chimpanzees—and all came frisking 
about her, bowing and scraping, to show how 
much they appreciated the honour of this visit. 
To celebrate it they stretched a tight-rope and 
danced, and threw somersaults with an agility 
which Beauty found highly diverting; and yet 
she could not help sighing that none of these ani¬ 
mals were able to tell her news of her unknown 
Prince Charming. She patted and made much 
of them, however, and asked if some of them 
would be kind enough to come with her and 
keep her company. 

At once, and as if they had only been waiting 
for this command, two large she-apes in sweep¬ 
ing court-dresses stepped to her side and became 

[200] 




Beauty and the Beast 

her maids of honour; two brisk little marmosets 
volunteered for pages and held up her train; 
while an affable baboon, his face wreathed with 
smiles, bowed, presented a gloved hand, and 
begged leave to squire her. With this singular 
escort Beauty marched back to luncheon, and 
while she ate it the birds piped and fluted around 
her for accompaniment to the parrots, who lifted 
up their voices and chanted the latest and most 
fashionable tunes. Nay more; the meal was no 
sooner ended than the apes begged her to allow 
them to entertain her with a light comedy; which 
(leave being granted) they proceeded to act in 
a highly creditable manner and with appropri¬ 
ate dumb-show, while the parrots spoke the 
words from the wings very distinctly and in ac¬ 
cents that exactly conformed with the various 
parts. At the close one of the actors ad¬ 
vanced, laid his hand on his heart and—still with 
the parrot for interpreter—thanked Beauty for 
the indulgence she had shown to their poor 
efforts. 

That night again, after supper, the Beast paid 
her his accustomed visit. He put the same ques- 

[201] 



Beauty and the Beast 

tions, and received her answers as before; and, 
as before, the conversation ended by his taking 
leave of her with a “Good night, Beauty.” The 
two she-apes, as ladies-in-waiting, thereupon un¬ 
dressed their mistress and saw her to bed. Be¬ 
fore leaving they thoughtfully opened the win¬ 
dow shutter, that the soft night-warbling of the 
birds might soothe her to sleep and dream of her 
lover. 

In this fashion day followed day, and still 
Beauty found plenty to amuse her. At the end 
of a week she made the most wonderful dis¬ 
covery of all. There was one large room which 
she had entered but once, because it seemed to 
her rather dull, and dark too. It was empty; and 
although it had four windows in each wall, but 
two of them admitted any light. One day, as she 
passed the door, the fancy took her to open one 
of these windows. She stepped in and drew 
the shutter, when to her astonishment it opened, 
not upon daylight at all, but what seemed to be a 
dim hall lit only by a glimmer, distant and faint, 
behind the chinks of a thick curtain at the fur¬ 
ther end. She was wondering what this might 

[202] 


Beauty and the Beast 

mean, when the curtain went up and in a sud¬ 
den flood of light she found herself gazing, as 
from a box, into a theatre crowded from floor 
to ceiling, and with an audience brilliant in 
dresses and jewels. 

An orchestra played the overture, and gave 
place to the actors—real actors this time, not 
apes and parrots. The play was charming, and 
Beauty in ecstasy with every scene of it. When 
the curtain fell she still lingered in her box, 
hoping to see the fashionable crowd disperse; 
but somewhat to her chagrin the lights went out 
almost at once and the theatre was dark again. 
Still it had been very pleasant, and she promised 
herself to become a constant playgoer. 

That evening when the Beast paid his visit, she 
told him all about the comedy. “Eh? You like 
that sort of thing, do you?” asked the monster. 
“Well, you shall have as much of it as you like. 
You are so pretty.” Beauty could not help smil¬ 
ing inwardly at his clumsy compliments. But 
she smiled no longer when he put to her once 
again his blunt question: — 

“Beauty, will you be my wife?” 

[203] 



Beauty and the Beast 

“No, Beast," she answered as before; but she 
was really beginning to get frightened, he was 
so gentle and so persistent. She sat up so long 
thinking over this that it was almost daylight 
before she closed her eyes in bed; and at once, 
as if impatient at being kept waiting, the lover 
of her dreams presented himself. Perhaps for 
this reason he was not in the best of tempers; at 
any rate he taxed her with being moody and dis¬ 
contented. 

“I should be happy enough,” she answered, 
“if the Beast did not pester me so. I—I almost 
think, by his foolish compliments, that he would 
like me to marry him.” Beauty expected her 
dream-lover to show some jealousy at this; see¬ 
ing that he merely stood glum, she went on, 
“Would you really be content if I married him? 
. . . but alas! no; were he as charming as he is 
hideous, you know that I love you and can never 
love any one else.” By all rights the Prince 
should have been in raptures at this avowal; but 
all his answer was: “Dearest, love him who best 
loves you. Do not be led astray by appearances, 
and so you will free me from captivity.” This 

[204] 



Beauty and the Beast 

was not only puzzling; it seemed to Beauty to 
be just a little selfish. “At least,” she said, “tell 
me what to do! Since liberty appears to be your 
first wish, believe me, I would liberate you at any 
sacrifice, if only I knew how.” But this was 
what she could never discover; and because of 
it her nights now, though she longed for them, 
troubled her more than her days. 

Her days passed pleasantly enough, and still 
in fresh discoveries. One by one in their turn 
she opened the windows of the great hall, and 
they revealed:— 

First, a grand performance of Opera; and she 
listened not to the singers only, but to the mur¬ 
mur of the audience between the acts. To listen 
to this and to gaze on human faces, gave her an 
inexpressible pleasure. 

Next, a great Fair in progress. When first 
she looked the throng had not arrived and she 
inspected the booths at leisure, with their vari¬ 
ous wares. As the spectators drifted in, the 
drums began to beat, the hobby horses to revolve, 
the showmen to shout, the marionettes to per¬ 
form in their little theatre. It was ravishing. 

[205] 


Beauty and the Beast 

After this she beheld a fashionable prome¬ 
nade, with a richly dressed crowd passing, re¬ 
passing, exchanging good-days, remarking how 
superb was the weather, and pausing to con and 
criticise the shop windows to right and left. 

The next spectacle was a gaming-room, with 
the players seated at their cards or roulette, the 
croupiers spinning the ball or raking the money. 
Beauty, with nothing to stake, had leisure to ob¬ 
serve their faces, and how sadly some left the 
tables who had come smiling with money in their 
pockets. She saw, too, that some were being 
cheated; and it vexed her, because she could not 
warn them. 

Next, she was gazing at the Royal Palace, 
where the King and Queen were holding a re¬ 
ception. She saw ambassadors with their wives, 
lords and ladies and state counsellors; and 
watched them as they passed by the throne mak¬ 
ing their lowest bows. 

A water picnic followed this. The boats lay 
moored alongside a bank where the merry¬ 
makers sat or lounged and talked to the sound 
of lutes. 


Beauty and the Beast 

The picnic ended in a ball, with violins play¬ 
ing and couples advancing and retreating on the 
waxed floor that shone in the light of a thousand 
candles. Oh, how Beauty longed to be one of 
the dancers! 

But perhaps the last window gave her the most 
pleasure. For through it she was able to see 
the whole world at one gaze and all that was go¬ 
ing on in it. State embassies, royal weddings, 
coronations, pageants, armies, revolutions, 
sieges, pitched battles—she could sit at her ease 
and watch them all, which was far more amus¬ 
ing than it is to read about them in a newspaper. 

She ought, you will say, to have been happy as 
the day was long. But no: a life becomes flat 
and stale which is a perpetual round of pleasure 
and leaves nothing to sigh or to hope for. Beauty 
began to long for a sight of her father and her 
brothers and sisters. She concealed this for a 
while, however, and turned her thoughts to 
what was more pressing; for she could not beg 
leave to go home until something had been done 
to rescue her dear Unknown and restore him to 
liberty. The Beast alone (she reflected) could 

[207] 



Beauty and the Beast 

tell her the secret; and she thought to herself 
that, being himself so blunt of speech, he would 
forgive some bluntness in her. So one evening 
she asked him point-blank: “Beast, are we alone 
in this palace, with nobody but ourselves?” 

“Of course we are,” he answered gruffly; but 
the question appeared in some way to sting him, 
for almost at once he rose and bade her good 
night. 

Now Beauty, whatever else she thought of the 
Beast, had by this time learnt to trust him for 
honest. It was a dreadful disappointment, there- 
fore, to be forced to believe on his word that her 
Prince Charming had no existence outside of 
her fancy. She slept ill that night. In her 
dream she was wandering again and sorrowfully 
alongside the canal when her lover appeared and 
took her hands between his while he scanned 
her face all bathed in tears. 

“What has gone wrong, dear Beauty?” he de¬ 
manded. “Why are you in this distress? . . . 
Ah, it is the Beast who persecutes you! But, 
never fear, you shall be delivered here and now 
from his attention”—and with these words the 

[208] 



[ 209 ] 


nimmiiim i nm iiiriininiiiiiiiiiiiYni iiirnTTrrTriiiiiiim i iTiintiniiiuJ^^ TmWrir ^n TTT iii TTT r m T T nT rt i T in r ii^^inuiii i u y^gPn ^rn^ ^E mminTn 



These no sooner saw Beauty than they be - 
gan to scream and chatter . 


§ 



‘ miniujirin r iu ' i iii iniiiiiiin ii iini 'nn m Tm miii r mfl ^wlTirLTiTrnT ni ' i 'TT nTL r ni T nniriiiii i i 'iii iiiiniiiif r 


mu rnfly 


[210] 














































































Beauty and the Beast 

Prince snatched out a dagger and rushed on the 
monster, who now for the first time came into 
the dream, advancing slowly down the bank of 
the canal. Strange to say, he offered no re¬ 
sistance even when the dagger almost touched 
his throat. But Beauty, whom an unseen power 
held back as she would have run to prevent the 
murder, on the instant found voice to cry, “Stay! 
Stay, rash fool! or kill me before you kill him 
who has been my best friend!” “Friend?” an¬ 
swered back the Prince, still with his dagger 
lifted; “and am I no more than that?” “You are 
an unfaithful one, at any rate,” persisted Beauty; 
“if, knowing well that I would lay down my life 
for you, you would take the life of one who has 
done me so much kindness.” But while she 
pleaded the figures wavered in her dream, still 
struggling together, and vanished, giving place 
to the same stately lady she had seen in her 
former vision. “Courage Beauty!” said this 
fresh phantom; “your happiness is not far off, if 
only you will go your own way and trust not to 
appearances.” 

This dream left Beauty so uneasy that next day 

[213] 


Beauty and the Beast 

she opened one window after another to cure 
her restlessness; and, when this would not do, all 
the windows together; but still in vain. That 
night, when the Beast paid his usual visit, he 
detected almost at once that she had been weep¬ 
ing, and demanded the reason. 

“Ah, sir,” said Beauty, “if only I might go 
home!” 

“You wish to go home?” The Beast’s face 
turned pale—which, for such a face, was no easy 
matter. He staggered backwards with a deep 
sigh, or rather, a roar of grief. “Ah, Beauty, 
Beauty! Would you desert a poor Beast? What 
more can I do to make you happy? Or is it be¬ 
cause you hate me that you wish to be gone?” 

“No, Beast,” answered Beauty gently; “I do 
not hate you, and I should be very sorry never 
to see you again. But I do long to see my own 
people. Let me go home for two months only, 
and I promise to come back and stay with you 
for the rest of my life.” 

The Beast had fallen flat and lay along the 
carpet at her feet. His eyes were closed, and 
for some while his heavy sighs alone told her 

[214] 


Beauty and the Beast 

that he was neither dead nor in a swoon. By and 
by he lifted his head:— 

“I can deny you nothing,” he said sadly. “But 
no matter, though it cost me my life. ... In 
the room next to your bedroom you will find four 
chests: fill them with everything you would like 
to take with you. Be sure to keep your word; 
for if you break it and come back to find your 
poor Beast dead, you will be sorry when it is too 
late. Come back at the end of two months and 
you will find me alive; and to come back you 
will not need chariot or horses. Only say good¬ 
bye, that night, to your father, and brothers, and 
sisters; and, when you are in bed, turn this ring 
round on your finger and say firmly: “I wish to 
go back to my palace and see my Beast again.” 
That is all. Good night, Beauty! Sleep soundly, 
and in good time you shall see your father once 
more.” 

As soon as he was gone Beauty set to work to 
fill the four boxes with all the riches and finery 
that heart could desire. She filled them to the 
brim; and then, tired out, she went to bed. But 
for a long while she could not close her eyes for 

[215] 


Beauty and the Beast 

excitement. It was not until close upon sunrise 
that sleep visited her and, with it, another dream. 
In this dream she saw her beloved Unknown 
stretched at full length on a bank of turf. His 
face was hidden, and she could hear that he was 
sobbing. But when, touched by the sight of his 
grief, she drew near to console him, he lifted his 
face to her and said:— 

“Cruel Beauty, how can you ask what ails me 
when you are leaving me, and your going is my 
death warrant!” 

“But, dearest Prince,” said Beauty, “I am only 
going to tell my father and brothers and sisters 
that I am well and happy. In a short while I 
shall be back, never to leave you again. . . . 
But, for that matter,” she went on as a new 
thought struck her, “why should we be separated 
at all? I will put off my going for another day, 
and tomorrow I will beg the Beast to let you go 
with me. I am sure he will not refuse.” 

“I can only go with you if you promise me 
never to come back,” replied the Prince. “And, 
after all, when you have once delivered me, why 
should we ever come back? The Beast will be 

[216] 


Beauty and the Beast 

hurt in his feelings and very angry no doubt; but 
by that time we shall be beyond his power.” 

“You forget,” Beauty reminded him sharply, 
“that I have promised him to return, and that, 
moreover, he says he will die of grief if I break 
my word.” 

“And what if he does?” demanded her lover. 
“Is not your happiness worth more than the life 
of a monster? Of what use is he in the world 
except to frighten folks out of their wits?” 

“Ah, you do not understand!” cried Beauty. 
“This monster—as you call him—is only a 
monster in his face, and through no fault of his. 
He has the kindest heart in the world, and how 
could I be so ungrateful after all he has done for 
me!” 

“I believe,” said her lover bitterly, “that if you 
saw us fighting, of the two you would rather let 
me perish than this Beast of yours.” 

Beauty told him that he was cruel and unjust, 
and begged him to talk of something else. She 
set the example, too. Seeing that he was 
piqued and proud, she addressed a long speech 
to him, full of endearments, to win him back to 

[217] 


Beauty and the Beast 

a good humour, and was growing astonished at 
her own eloquence when, in the middle of it, she 
awoke. 

Her last words seemed to mingle with the 
sound of familiar voices. She sprang out of 
bed and drew her curtain. ... It was very 
strange! As the sunlight poured in she saw 
that she was in a room much more poorly fur¬ 
nished than that in which she had fallen asleep. 
She dressed in haste and opening the door, found 
that the next room too was like no apartment in 
the Beast’s palace. But at her feet -stood the four 
chests she had packed overnight; and, while she 
marvelled, again she heard a voice talking, and 
ran towards it. For it was her father’s. 

She rushed out and fell into his arms. He, 
poor man, stared at her as though she had sprung 
from another world, and the others were no less 
astonished. Her brothers embraced her with 
transports of joy, while her sisters—who, to tell 
the truth, had not overcome their jealousy—pre¬ 
tended to be quite as glad. They plied her with 
a thousand questions, which she answered very 
good-naturedly, putting aside her own impa- 

[218] 




Beauty and the Beast 

tience; for she too had a number of questions to 
ask. To begin with, this house of theirs was not 
the cottage in which she had left them, but a fine 
new one her father had been able to buy with 
the Beast’s presents. If not wealthy, he was in 
easy circumstances; with the bettering of their 
fortunes her sisters had found other wooers and 
were soon to be married; and altogether Beauty 
had the satisfaction of knowing that she had 
at least brought prosperity back to her family. 
“As for you, my dearest child,” said the mer¬ 
chant, “when your sisters are married, you shall 
keep house for your brothers and me, and so 
my old age will be happy.” 

This was all very well, but Beauty had to tell 
her father that she must leave him again in two 
months’ time; whereat he broke out into lamen¬ 
tations. “Dear father,” said the sensible girl, 
“it is good of you to weep; but it is useless, and 
I would rather have your advice, which is sure 
to be useful.” Thereupon she told him all the 
story. Her father considered for a while, and 
then said:— 

“I can only give you the same counsel that, 

[219] 


Beauty and the Beast 

by your own admission, you are always receiv¬ 
ing from these phantoms of your dreams. ‘Do 
not trust to appearance,’ they say, and ‘Be guided 
by your heart’s gratitude’; and they tell you this 
over and over again. What can it mean, child, 
but one thing? The Beast, you say, is frightful. 
His appearance is certainly against him. Then 
judge him rather by the gratitude which you cer¬ 
tainly owe him. It is plain that he has a good 
heart—‘handsome is as handsome does’—it is 
clear to me that these phantoms would have you 
say ‘Yes’ to the Beast, and I too advise you to 
consent.” 

Beauty saw the wisdom of this and knew very 
well that her father was counselling her for the 
best. Nevertheless it needed something more 
than this to reconcile her with marrying a 
monster, and she felt relieved at the thought that 
for two whole months she could put off deciding. 
Strange to say, as the days went by and the time 
of her departure drew nearer, she found herself 
looking forward to it rather than repining. For 
one thing distressed her and spoilt all her happi¬ 
ness—she never dreamed at all now. 

[220] 


Beauty and the Beast 

The days went by, and as they drew to an end 
her brothers and even her father (forgetting his 
former good counsel) employed all persuasions 
to hinder her departure. But her mind was 
made up; and when the two months were passed 
she was resolute on everything but the hour of 
her parting. Every morning, when she got up, 
she meant to say good-bye, but somehow another 
night came and the farewells were still un¬ 
spoken. 

She reproached herself (as well she might), 
and was still thus cruelly torn between two 
minds, when one night a dream visited her—the 
first for two months and more. 

She dreamed that she was back at the Beast’s 
palace, and wandering by a lonely path in the 
gardens which ended in a tangle of brushwood 
overhanging a cave. As she drew nearer she 
heard a terrible groaning, and running in haste 
she found the Beast stretched there on the point 
of death. Still in her dream she was bending 
over him when the stately lady stepped forth 
from the bushes and addressed her in a tone of 
grave reproach:— 

C 221] 


Beauty and the Beast 

“I doubt, Beauty, if even now you have come 
in time. Cruel, cruel of you to delay! when your 
delay has brought him so near to death!” 

Terrified by this dream Beauty awoke in her 
bed with a start. “I have done wickedly!” she 
cried. “Am I too late? Oh, indeed I hope not!” 
She turned the ring upon her finger and said 
aloud in a firm voice: “I wish to go back to my 
palace and see my Beast again!” 

With that she at once fell asleep, and only 
woke up to hear the clock chiming, “Beauty, 
Beauty,” twelve times on the musical note she 
so well remembered. She was back, then, at the 
palace. Yes, and—oh, joy!—her faithful apes 
and parrots were gathered around the bed, wish¬ 
ing her good morning! 

But none of them could tell her any news of 
the Beast. They were here to serve her, and all 
their thoughts ended with their duty. Their 
good master—the lord of this splendid palace— 
what was he to them? At any rate nothing was 
to be learnt from them, and Beauty was no 
sooner dressed than she broke away impatiently, 
wandering through the house and the gardens to 

[222] 


Beauty and the Beast 

fill up the time until evening should bring his 
accustomed visit. But it was hard work filling 
up the time. She went into the great hall and 
resolutely opened the windows one by one. The 
shows were there as before; but opera and 
comedy, fete and pageant, held no meaning for 
her: the players were listless, the music was dull, 
the processions passed before her eyes but had 
lost their powers to amuse. 

Supper-time came at length; but when after 
supper the mintes passed and passed and still no 
Beast appeared, then indeed Beauty was fright¬ 
ened. For a long while she waited, listened, told 
herself this and that, and finally in a terror 
rushed down into the gardens to seek for him. 
The alleys were dark; the bushes daunted her 
with their black shadows; but still up and down 
ran poor Beauty calling to the Beast, and calling 
in vain. 

She was drenched with the dew, utterly lost 
and weary, when, after three hours, pausing for 
a moment’s rest, she saw before her the same soli¬ 
tary path she had seen in her dream: and there 

[223] 


Beauty and the Beast 

in the moonlight she almost stumbled over the 

Beast. 

He lay there, stretched at full length and 
asleep—or so she thought. So glad was she to 
have found him that she knelt and stroked his 
head, calling him by name over and over. But 
his flesh was cold beneath her hand, nor did he 
move or open his eyes. 

“Ah, he is dead!” she cried, aghast. 

But she put a hand over his heart, and to her 
inexpressible joy she felt that it was still beating. 
Hastily she ran to a fountain near by, and dip¬ 
ping water into her palms from its basin she ran 
and sprinkled it on his face, coaxing him with 
tender words as his eyes opened, and slowly— 
very slowly—he came to himself. 

“Ah! what a fright you have given me!” she 
murmured. “Dear Beast, I never knew how I 
loved you until I feared that you were dead—yes, 
dead, and through my fault! But I believe, if 
you had died, I should have died too.” 

“Beauty,” said the Beast faintly, “you are very 
good if indeed you can love such an ugly brute 
as I am. It is true that I was dying for you, and 

[224] 


Beauty and the Beast 

should have died if you had not come. I thought 
you had forsaken me. But are you sure?” 

“Sure of what?” asked Beauty. 

“That you love me?” 

“Let us go back to supper,” said Beauty, rais¬ 
ing his head. 

“Yes, let us go back to supper,” agreed the 
Beast, lifting himself heavily on her arm. He 
still leaned on her, as they walked back to the 
palace together. But the supper—which they 
found laid for two—seemed to revive him, and 
in his old stupid way he asked her about the time 
she had spent at home, and if her father and 
brothers and sisters had been glad to see her. 

Beauty, though weary enough after her 
search through the park and gardens, brisked 
herself up to tell of all that had happened to her 
in her absence. The Beast sat nodding his head 
and listening in his old dull way—which some¬ 
how seemed to her the most comfortable way in 
the world. At length he rose to go. But at the 
doorway he put the old blunt question, 

“Beauty, will you marry me?” 

“Yes, dear Beast,” said Beauty; and as she said 

[225] 


Beauty and the Beast 

it a blaze of light filled the room. A salvo of ar¬ 
tillery sounded, a moment later, from the park. 
Bang, bang! fireworks shot across the windows 
of the palace; sky rockets and Roman candles 
exploded and a magnificent set-piece wrote 
across the darkness in letters of fire— “long live 

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST!” 

Beauty turned to ask what all these rejoicings 
might mean; and, with that, she gave a cry. The 
Beast had vanished, and in his place stood the 
beloved Prince of her dreams! He smiled and 
stretched out his hands to her. Scarcely know¬ 
ing what she did, she was stretching hers, to take 
them, when above the banging of fireworks in 
the avenues there sounded a rolling of wheels. 
It drew to the porch, and presently there entered 
the stately lady she had seen in her dreams. It 
was the very same; and, all astounded as she was, 
Beauty did reverence to her. 

But the stately lady was as eager to do rever¬ 
ence to Beauty. “Best and dearest,” said she, 
“my son is going to love you always; as how 
should he not, seeing that by your courage you 
have rescued him from the enchantment under 

[226] 


Beauty and the Beast 

which he has lain so long, and have restored him 
to his natural form? But suffer also his mother, 
a Queen, to bless you!” 

Beauty turned again to her lover and saw that 
he, who had been a Beast, was indeed the Prince 
of her dreams and handsomer than the day. So 
they were married and lived happy ever after; 
nay, so happy were they that all over the world 
folks told one another and set down in writing 
this wonderful history of Beauty and, the Beast. 

MORAL 

Maidens, from this tale of Beauty 
Learn, and in your memory write — 

Daily leads a Path of Duty 

Through the Garden of Delight; 

Where the loveliest roses wear 

Daunting thorns, for you to dare . 


ANOTHER 

Many shy, unhappy creatures 

From the covert watch your mirth: 

“Foul are we,” they mourn; “our features 

Blot the sun, deform the earth.” 

Pity, love them, speak them fair: 

# • 

Half their woe ye may repair . 

[227] 


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[228] 





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